In the evening, when the men were returning from their work, they heard a miserable howling and splashing from the old manure-well in the field. They stopped and listened; they seemed to know the sound. Wasn’t it Box’s voice?
One of them went nearer, and saw at once from the state of the boards that someone had recently fallen through.
The moment Box heard help approaching, he began barking loudly. Thanks to his long stilts, he had, fortunately for him, been able to reach the bottom; but he could not escape unaided from the foul cesspool.
The man called to the others, and they hastened to help the unfortunate bather.
An old fire-hook, attached to a bucket which was used to hoist manure when the pump went on strike, was let down, and Box was not long getting into the “life-saving chair.”
His lacerated and bleeding back was covered with a generous layer of frightful-smelling muck; nevertheless, he felt deeply hurt when his rescuers repulsed his eager, well-meant thanks for the service they had rendered him.
“Puh! Box ... you pig!” they shouted, kicking out at him with their wooden clogs as he rushed forward to embrace them.
And on arrival at the farm he was, without the slightest warning, thrice swilled over with pails of horrid, icy-cold water.
And, to add insult to injury, he was forbidden admission to the house for several days afterwards....
After this, “Dirty-pig Box” superseded the usual call of “Good Box” ... dirty-pig Box who fell in the cesspit!