Meanwhile the main body of the army moved toward the centre of the village, sending out foraging excursions to every garden and lawn, unmindful of shrill threats or fluttering aprons. On the bank of the Jewell River stood a little photograph saloon, and there Miss Sally Graham, for twenty years the village dressmaker, was having her picture taken. It was a critical moment. The photographer's head was underneath the green cloth behind the camera.
"Please turn your head just a trifle toward the left, and look a little more cheerful, Miss Graham," said the artist.
Miss Sally turned her head so that she looked toward the open door. She was just saying "besom" for the last time when two large hogs, one of them as black as Erebus, scrambled into the room and came directly toward her.
"Oh, horrors!" shrieked Miss Sally, jumping up and whirling wildly about in search of a way of escape. She rushed into the dark room and slammed the door, overturning a bottle of some malodorous compound. There she stood amid the horrible smells till, after much squealing, shouting, and crashing of glass, the artist bade her come forth again.
By this time the hogs began to arrive at the centre of the village. Those who saw them coming were first amused, and then amazed, and then alarmed. Several of them climbed up four steps to the piazza of Boynton's fruit-store, and began to eat a bunch of bananas and other fruit exposed for sale. Oscar Boynton's wrath was great, his arm was mighty, and his weapon was an iron poker; but all these produced no effect whatever until he hooked the end of the poker into the nostrils of the hogs, and so persuaded them to turn aside.
The situation was in truth growing serious. The hogs began to collect in large numbers on Main Street. They drove the people into the houses, especially where the men were not at home. They spread across Depot Street until they came to Prospect Street. This was known as "Ladies' Row," because so many spinsters and widows lived there. It was the street of flower gardens, and all summer long it was a glorious rivalry of violets, pansies, daisies, roses, asters, and every sweet and beautiful blossom. Into this paradise the hogs entered, and began to root up and destroy.
Toward the lower part of Main Street stood the grocery-store of Mr. Heman Hemenway, Chairman of the Board of Village Trustees. Trade being very dull, Mr. Hemenway sat dozing behind the counter dreaming of better times.
Suddenly quick footsteps tapped along the knotty floor. Mr. Hemenway sprang up and put on the expectant smile with which he greeted every customer.
It was Miss Placentia Hannum, of Ladies' Row, who stood before him. Her face was flushed, her dark eyes blazed with indignation, and her voice was pitched on a very high note as she exclaimed, "Mr. Hemenway! aren't you going to do anything?"