"I would ha' swore, sir, there was thirteen, but it seems there was only twilve. Yes, sir, I has 'em all;" and away he drove.
As for Romeo Augustus, a change came over him. Far from shunning the barn, he hung about it constantly. Moreover, he was always present when the cows were milked, morning and night. He had a playful trick of dipping his own tin cup into the foaming pail, and scampering away with it full to the brim. Nobody objected to that. If he chose to strain a point, and drink unstrained milk, he was welcome to do it.
"And if you see fit to save half your dinner, and give it away, I am willing," said his mother, who was busy, and hardly noticed what Romeo Augustus asked her. "But you must not soil your jacket fronts as you do. This is the fifth time within a week I have sponged your clothes."
Soon after this, Philemon and Romeo Augustus were out in the barn, rolling over and over, burying themselves in the sweet-smelling hay.
Suddenly Philemon pricked up his ears.
"What's that?" quoth he. "I heard a little pig squealing. Where can he be?"
"Philemon," said Romeo Augustus, earnestly, "let's climb to that top mow, and jump down. Hurrah! It's a good twenty feet. Come on, if you dare!"
If he dare! Of course he dared. It was great fun to launch one's self into space, and come whirling down on the hay. There was just enough danger of breaking one's neck to give spice to the treat. How Romeo Augustus did scurry about, hustling Philemon whenever he stopped to breathe, and urging him on, shouting at the top of his lungs,
"One more jump, old boy. Hurrah! Hurray!"
Philemon had no spare time in which to wonder if he heard a small pig squeal.