And, for the first time since he had come to live with Bob on the farm, Don began to think of running away. He had never thought of such a thing before, and he wouldn’t have done so then, only Squinty put it into his head, you see.
Don kept hold of Squinty’s ear all the way back to the farm and led the comical little pig right up to the pen from which he had broken out.
“There you are!” growled Don, but his voice was quite friendly.
“Yes, here I am, back again,” sighed Squinty, sorrowfully. “I wish you had let me run farther away.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t think of it,” barked Don.
“Never mind. Maybe some day you’ll run away yourself,” went on Squinty, “and then you’ll be sorry if some one makes you come back home.”
“No, I never will,” Don said.
The farmer, who owned the pigs, came running out of the barn.
“Well, I declare!” he cried. “If Don hasn’t brought back that rascal Squinty, who ran away! Good dog, Don!”