"H'm," said Norah. "Well, I'm not Matilda, anyway! However, I opened the gate of the yard. And then I stood there and just gaped at what I saw."
"Dogs?"
"Our dogs are decently trained," Norah said, much offended. "No, it wasn't dogs—it was pigs!"
"Whew-w!" whistled Wally.
"Pigs. They had burrowed in right under the fence; there was a great big hole there. And they'd eaten every chicken, and every egg in the yard. My lovely boxes were all knocked over, and the nests torn to bits, and there wasn't so much as an eggshell left. The poor old hens were just demented—they were going round and round the yard, clucking and calling, and altogether like mad things. And in the middle of it all, fat and happy and snoring—three pigs!"
"What did you do?" Wally felt that this case was beyond the reach of ordinary words of sympathy.
"Couldn't do anything. I chased the beasts out of the yard, and threw everything I could find at them—but you can't hurt a pig. And Dad was horrid—advised me to have them killed, so that at least we could have eggs and bacon!" Norah laughed, in spite of her woebegone tone.
"And he calls himself a father!" said Wally, solemnly.
"Oh, he wasn't really horrid," Norah answered. "He wrote off to town and bought me a very swagger pair of Plymouth Rocks—just beauties. They cost three guineas!"
"Three guineas!" said the awestruck youth. "What awful waste! Where are they, Norah? Show me them at once!"