The owner of the field saw that there was something wrong with his potato patch.
The vines were tom up, and the potatoes were gone. But who was the thief? By watching, maybe, the robber might be found out.
The farmer hid himself among some bushes. But he saw nothing, except one of his own little pigs. Piggy was coming slowly, slowly along the big road. He was rooting all the way, and grunting at every step. Did the pig know where he was going?
One corner of the rail fence rested on a large hollow log. That log was just like the elbow of a stove-pipe. One of its ends was outside and one was inside of the potato field.
The sly pig went straight to that log! With a grunt, he crawled in at one end of it, and, with another grunt, he crawled out at the other end, into the field. There he began, at once, to root up the nice potatoes, and to eat them.
The farmer jumped over the fence. In a trice the bars were put down. There was a loud call, "Here, Rover, Rover, seek him! seek him, sir!" And the dog chased the thieving rascal squealing from the field.