Though it was only a mile or two from Penhollow to Dingley
Farm, they were tired out, and dropped down exhausted on their
comfortable beds.
Miss Laura was so delighted to think that they had all lived, that she
did not know what to do. Her eyes were bright and shining, and she went
from one to another with such a happy face. The queer little pig that
Mr. Harry had christened "Daddy Longlegs," had been washed, and he lay
on his heap of straw in the corner of his neat little pen, and surveyed
his clean trough and abundance of food with the air of a prince. Why, he
would be clean and dry here, and all his life he had been used to dirty,
damp Penhollow, with the trees hanging over him, and his little feet in
a mass of filth and dead leaves. Happy little pig! His ugly eyes seemed
to blink and gleam with gratitude, and he knew Miss Laura and Mr. Harry
as well as I did.
His tiny tail was curled so tight that it was almost in a knot. Mr. Wood
said that was a sign that he was healthy and happy, and that when poor
Daddy was at Penhollow he had noticed that his tail hung as limp and as
loose as the tail of a rat. He came and leaned over the pen with Miss
Laura, and had a little talk with her about pigs.
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