PIG OR PORK?
The spring did perfectly wonderful things to the land adjacent to
Highland Hall. It was really time that _something_ was happening to
improve that rather cheerless prospect. During the fall and winter
months, the landscape had been mostly brown and gray and black, often
more or less disfigured with patches of dingy snow; and a general misty
bleakness surrounded the big, rather ugly building. But, with the coming
of spring all this was changed. One could now see why the school
prospectus had stated that Highland Hall was “beautifully located.”
The building stood at the top of a broad knoll. The level portion of
this was covered by a well kept lawn—tall, lanky Charles, with his sandy
hair on end and his angular elbows greatly in evidence, might be seen
galloping over it with his lawn roller, getting certain bare spots ready
for seed. The sloping banks were grassed also but this grass grew at its
own sweet will; and then, quite suddenly it _wasn’t_ grass but long
stemmed violets. You could gather tremendous bunches of them and still
there were millions left—popular Miss Blossom was fairly besieged with
bouquets. Then, farther down the hillside were great patches of snowy
bloodroot and miniature groves of mandrake with their hidden, creamy,
heavily perfumed cups. There were wild crab-apple trees wreathed with
wonderful pink and white buds and blossoms. The edges of the unsightly
ditches along the road suddenly became brilliantly green and pink with
oxalis and there were sheltered nooks along the margin of the grove that
were blue with mertensia or purple with the spider lily. Even the dry
prairie was bursting forth with bloom; the lovely lavender of the bird’s
foot violet and later the showy blossoms of the shooting star. There
were gorgeous blue jays and orioles in the trees and meek gray doves in
the hedges.
All the girls except Henrietta seemed bubbling over with happiness these
days. Even Sallie, dreadfully shabby as to clothes and growing shabbier,
was more cheerful, because she loved the spring season at Highland Park;
and because she had never before possessed so many warm friends among
the pupils. But Henrietta was visibly drooping. Her eyes wore a
strained, anxious look and every day at mail time, her brilliant color
deserted her, leaving her pale and trembling and quite unlike her usual
vivacious self. At sight of a telegram arriving for Doctor Rhodes—and he
often received as many as four a week—Henrietta’s lips would turn
absolutely white. And several times, on the days when her grandmother’s
letters came with no news of her still missing father, the girls had
found her weeping. It was decidedly unlike Henrietta to weep.
But even Henrietta loved the wild flowers. Sallie knew where to find the
choicest blossoms and Doctor Rhodes, glad to have the girls spend their
leisure hours outdoors, even if it did increase their appetites
alarmingly, extended their bounds a good half mile toward the south so
the girls could roam at will.
One beautiful day, when school was dismissed earlier than usual, Mabel
asked permission to take her friends as far as the cottage that
contained Charles’s interesting family.
“I’m awfully fond of children,” explained Mabel. “I get lonesome for
them when I don’t have any. Several times I’ve given candy and little
presents to Charles to take home to those cunning babies; but I’m just
dying to see them again and some of the girls want to go, too.”
“I’ve no objection to your _seeing_ them,” said Doctor Rhodes, with a
friendly chuckle, “but you are strictly forbidden to accept any
invitations to stay with that family and you are not to bring any of
them home with you.”
“I won’t,” promised Mabel. “Thank you ever so much for letting us go.”
The long walk over the blossoming prairie was wonderful and the other
delighted youngsters thanked Mabel for planning the trip. The children
at the cottage proved interesting and sweet and the girls loved them.
Tommy remembered Mabel and said: “Please stay wiz us, you is nicer than
Lizzie,” which pleased Mabel very much indeed, though of course she
_didn’t_ stay. The shy twins soon became friendly and even the baby was
smiling and responsive. Mrs. Charles had been making cookies and
generously passed them around. Then Maude looked at her watch and said
that it was time to start back.
The girls decided to go home by the road that wound along over the
prairie and somewhat west of the more direct but pathless route they had
taken _to_ the cottage. It was longer but Sallie said that interesting
things grew along the edges. Even Sallie, however, was surprised at one
thing they discovered. Mabel, who was trudging sturdily along, a little
ahead of the others—and of course she had a right to lead the procession
since it was her party—suddenly stopped short.
“Mercy!” she gasped. “What’s that!”
“What’s _what_?” asked Sallie, crowding to the front. “Is it a new
flower? Oh! Why, that looks like a little pig!”
“But ’way out here!” cried Maude. “It couldn’t walk so far and there are
no farms along here.”
“But the farmers ’way south of here,” returned Sallie, “send them in to
the packing houses or down to the trains along this road. Probably this
one got spilled out of somebody’s wagon and the driver never missed
him.”
“No doubt,” said little Jane Pool, “the other piggies squealed so hard
that the poor man never heard the cries of distress from this one.”
“It’s so little and pink and clean,” said Bettie, admiringly.
“But so naked,” objected Marjory. “It really seems as if it ought to be
wearing baby clothes—little woolly ones. I’m glad it’s a warm day.”
“See,” said Mabel, “it’s sucking my finger—I think it likes me.”
“It’s hungry,” said Sallie. “It seems too bad to leave it here to
starve.”
“But _we_ don’t want any pig,” objected Henrietta. “I don’t think I
_like_ pigs.”
“I’m sure _I_ don’t,” said Maude. “Come on, girls, let’s climb up the
ladder to that windmill over there and walk all around it on that
ledge—I think it’s wide enough. We don’t want to be bothered with any
pigs.”
But the lonesome little pig had no intention of being left behind. It
trotted along at the girls’ heels and squealed piteously in its efforts
to keep up.
“Poor little thing,” said Bettie, “it’s just starving.”
“And tired,” said Mabel. “Every minute or two it loses its footing and
rolls right over. It thinks it belongs to us.”
“You’re afraid to pick it up and carry it,” teased Marjory.
“I’m not,” said Mabel. “I’m going to do it. The rest of you can climb
all the windmills you want to, but I’m going to be kind to this pig.”
Whereupon kind Mabel picked up the pig and carried it. At first,
however, the little animal squirmed and struggled so much that Mabel had
all she could do to keep from dropping him.
“But what are you going to do with him?” queried Bettie.
“Oh, I’ll just slip around to the kitchen door—if I ever get that
far—and ask Charles to take care of him.”
“Charles won’t be home,” said Sallie. “That’s the time of day he goes to
the station to get the bread.”
“Then I’ll take him up to my room,” said Mabel, whose pet was now quite
satisfied in her arms. “Perhaps you could bring up a cup of milk for
him.”
“Mabel never comes home empty handed,” laughed Marjory. “And she isn’t
particular what she brings, as long as it’s alive.”
“Won’t Isabelle be pleased?” laughed Maude.
“Lend him to me, Mabel. I’ll put him in Miss Woodruff’s bed.”
“No you won’t. I’m not going to have him abused.”
“Well, beware of Isabelle,” giggled Marjory.
Forewarned is forearmed. Mabel succeeded in slipping the pig into her
bedroom closet without disturbing Isabelle who was busy writing what she
was pleased to call “a poem.” She sent them, as she confided to Mabel,
to her friend Clarence. Of course, when Isabelle had a pencil in her
hand and that faraway look in her eye she was not likely to notice mere
pigs.
Sallie had contrived a nursing bottle for the infant. Mabel, seated on
the closet floor, succeeded in feeding her charge and presently made a
nest for him by dumping the stockings out of her round mending basket;
but to her surprise the pig, not being built that way, refused to curl.
His tail curled beautifully but the rest of him wouldn’t. In no way, in
fact, was he as accommodating an animal as a kitten or even a puppy.
“If he’d only just _cuddle_,” groaned Mabel, “he’d be so much more
comfortable to live with.”
It was somewhere about midnight when Isabelle became aware of the pig.
Mabel had been aware of him for a great many sleepless hours. Either he
had had too much to eat or not enough. Perhaps he was only lonesome. At
any rate he was quiet only when Mabel held him close to her own warm
body and kept one or more of her fingers in his mouth. She had spent
part of the night on the floor among the shoes; but the floor was hard
and Mabel was sleepy; so finally she had crept into her own bed and
taken the infant pig with her.
But nothing she could do seemed to please him. His squeals became louder
and louder and more and more frequent. At last one of his very best
squeals escaped from under the bedclothes.
“My goodness!” gasped Isabelle, suddenly sitting up in bed. “What’s
that! Was that you, Mabel?”
“No,” returned Mabel, truthfully. “I didn’t speak.”
“It wasn’t a ‘speak’—it was more like a squeak.”
Piggy chose that moment to let out a smothered “Wee Wee!” in spite of
Mabel’s restraining hand.
“Mabel, it _is_ you. Are you sick?”
“I—I’m not sleeping very well,” offered Mabel, trying not to giggle.
“I’m quite restless.”
“I thought I heard you eating things in the closet while I was writing.
Perhaps you’ve made yourself sick.”
By this time Mabel was about helpless with laughter—it was so amusing to
be taken for a pig. But just then her charge took a mean advantage of
her. He squirmed suddenly, rolled out of bed and landed with a thump and
an astonished grunt on the floor.
“My Uncle!” gasped Isabelle, leaping out of bed and switching on the
light. “Are you killed!”
“For goodness’ sake keep still,” growled Mabel. “It isn’t me—it’s my
pig!”
[Illustration: “For goodness’ sake keep still,” growled Mabel]
The pink pig scuttling here and there across the floor was too much for
Isabelle. She plunged into bed again and sat there with horrified eyes
on the pig. Suddenly, as he dashed in her direction, she squealed and
the pig squealed and they both squealed—a regular duet.
Miss Woodruff in her red flannel nightdress was the first to arrive at
the party.
“What!” she demanded, pausing in the doorway, “does _this_ mean?”
Piggy chose this moment for a mad dash for freedom. In his flight
through the doorway he brushed the lady’s bare ankles. Miss Woodruff’s
wild shrieks were added to Isabelle’s.
Of course everybody in the West Corridor was awake by that time. Brave
Victoria Webster, now that Gladys was gone, was again rooming with
Augusta and Lillian Thwaite. Pausing for nothing, Victoria rushed
through the dark halls toward the portion of the house occupied by
Doctor Rhodes. Her lusty cries of “Fire! Fire!” brought all the Rhodes
family in bathrobes of assorted colors, to the West Corridor.
By the time they arrived, Lillian and Augusta had added their shrieks to
Isabelle’s.
“Stop this noise,” commanded Doctor Rhodes, shaking Augusta. “What are
you screaming for?”
“I don’t know,” chattered Augusta.
“What are _you_ screaming for, Lillian?”
“Ow! Ow! I—I don’t know.”
“Miss Woodruff—”
“Why!” gasped Miss Woodruff, suddenly remembering her scarlet attire and
bolting for her own room, “I don’t know.”
“Well, Isabelle, what are _you_ screaming for? You seem to be the last.”
“I—I saw a pig!” shuddered Isabelle.
“Nonsense!” returned Doctor Rhodes. “You _couldn’t_ have seen a pig.
You’ve been having a nightmare—you ate too much roast pork for dinner.”
“No, no,” insisted Isabelle, “it _was_ a pig.”
“There’s no such animal as a night pig,” returned Doctor Rhodes, with
dignity. “Now get back to your beds, all of you, and don’t let me hear
another sound from any of you tonight, about pigs or anything else.”
Mabel, tired as she was, stayed awake for an hour wondering what had
become of the poor little pig. Although she listened with all her ears,
not even the faintest squeal could she hear. Finally she dropped asleep.
“Mabel,” said puzzled Isabelle, the next morning, “I really _thought_ I
saw a pig last night. Did _you_ see one?”
“I thought I _heard_ one,” returned Mabel, who was busy in the closet,
stuffing a milky bottle into her pocket. “But of course no pig could
climb all those stairs.”
“That’s so, too,” said Isabelle. “It _may_ have been that pork—I forgot
to eat my apple sauce.”
“I’m sure it was pork,” agreed Mabel, wickedly and truthfully.
At breakfast time Mabel found a note under her plate.
“Dear Mabel: Found at 7 A. M. one pig rooting under the dining
room table for crumbs. Charles is building a pen for him in the
back yard and all is well—thought you’d like to know.
Sallie.”
At recess time, Mabel led Isabelle to the new pig pen. Maude and little
Jane Pool were looking over the edge.
“Jane and I thought somebody ought to give him a name so _we_ did,” said
Maude, with a wicked glance at Isabelle. “Don’t you think ‘Clarence’
would be a sweet name—for a pig?”
Then, with a gleeful shout, the naughty pair sped away to eat pie under
the porch. And Sallie appeared with a message for Mabel.
“Doctor Rhodes wishes to see Miss Bennett in his office,” announced
Sallie.
“I’m told,” said Doctor Rhodes, when Mabel stood demurely before him,
“that Highland Hall has mysteriously acquired a pig. It occurs to me
that you may be able to shed some light on the subject.”
“Yes,” said Mabel, “you’ve guessed right. I brought that pig home.
Somebody had to—he was _so_ lonesome.”
“But didn’t I tell you—”
“You didn’t say _pigs_. You said any of Charles’s family.”
“Hum—so I did. And you kept that animal in your room?”
“I tried to.”
“Then Isabelle really saw a pig?”
“She wasn’t sure at breakfast time,” giggled Mabel.
“You haven’t any _more_ pets concealed on the premises, I suppose! An
extra pig or two or a young hippopotamus or anything like that?”
“No,” giggled Mabel, “and I don’t _want_ any more for a long time. A pig
is a fearful responsibility.”
“You’ve been punished enough, I see. Well, don’t let it happen again.”
“I won’t,” promised Mabel, cheered by a certain twitching line in Doctor
Rhodes’s cheek. “I’ve had enough pets to last a long time—besides one
roommate is just about all Isabelle can stand.”