"Couldn't we build them a pen out of logs?" asked Joe.
"Can't spare any of our precious timber for pigs," said Mr. Peniman. Then with a sudden smile breaking over his face, "Now I have it! Come along, boys, get your spades, and I'll soon show you how we can make Romeo and Juliet a fine home."
The boys had learned long since that the humorous little twinkle in the corner of their father's eye always meant fun ahead, so grabbing up their spades they followed him to a spot some distance back of the spot they had marked out for their future home on the river bank.
With a few quick strokes of his boot-heel Mr. Peniman described a circle on the ground. Then, throwing off his coat, he fell to digging.
Somewhat puzzled as to how a pig-pen was to be constructed with shovels, the boys followed his example.
"But I can't see," puffed Lige, "how this is going to make a place for live pigs. If they were dead ones, and we were going to bury them——"
Suddenly Joe burst out laughing.
"Oh, I know," he cried. "Why, of course! It's a bully idea! Don't you see that we can dig a pen for them? A mighty good kind of a pen, too, that they can't break down or squeeze through or get out of."
Mr. Peniman stopped digging long enough to mop his face.
"Surely! We'll make a pit about three feet deep, and big enough around so that the little fellows will have a chance to chase around and grow. This pair," he smiled, casting a smiling glance at the little porkers, "may be the beginning of our stock-farm." After a moment he continued, digging busily, "People who come out to the plains in wagons can't carry much with them, so they have to use everything they have at hand. There's not much of anything to work with on the prairies but dirt and grass, and we not only have to make them furnish our stock a home but ourselves as well."