"I don't sell on credit, you know," said Mr. Whittlesey. "Anything to trade?"
"Nothing that I know of. Unless you care to take that vacant lot of mine, next the tavern. Tisn't doing me any good. I had to take it for a debt, and I've paid taxes for it these three years."
"Will you swap even?"
"Yes, I might as well."
There was more talk, of course, before the trade was finished, but it came out all right in the end. Before the next day at noon Mr. Corrigan owned the pig's horse; but the deed of the town lot was made out in the name of Ben Whittlesey, and not of the pig.
"Father," said Ben, at the tea table, "mayn't I let that pig out into the road every day?"
"No, Ben; all the pigs in the village can't root up another cent like that."
"He did it."
"Well, Ben, he did and he didn't. Do you know how he got the town lot for you?"
"Why, yes. Don't I?"