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WINKIE BABY had grown very fast after the first day or two of tender care, and he was soon running about under everybody's feet. He seemed to love Cheery best, and wherever she went, he trotted or galloped after her, giving little satisfied grunts and poking his nose against her heels. When she was out of sight, he wandered about forlornly; but as soon as her voice was heard, some one would call:—"Oh, Cheery, here comes the Baby!" and sure enough, Winkie Baby would come scampering toward her, emitting little grunts and squeals of delight. This was all very well while Winkie Baby was so tiny; but when he had grown to be about as big as a fox terrier, he began to be troublesome. He was always under everybody's feet, or eating the meal from the chicken's pans, or the eggs from the lower nests in the chicken house;—and so, one day, he found himself shut outside of the garden gate.

At first he rather liked it, and ran down the lane, poking his nose into everything, and having a fine time; but by and by he grew lonesome and came back to the gate; and there he stood, patiently, until Uncle Rob came home, and then, as soon as the gate was opened, he dodged in. He didn't wait, politely, for Uncle Rob to go in first, he just went in under Uncle Rob's feet, and Uncle Rob sat down on the ground and watched him go! Then Uncle Rob and the children spent fifteen minutes in chasing him out again. Half an hour later, when Mr. Cann tried to come in, the same thing happened; and when Mamma and Aunt Beth came home, Cheery and The Chum had to climb over the fence into the lane and sit on him, so that they could get through the gate.

The next day Winkie Baby was nowhere in sight, nor the next, and Cheery and The Chum missed him so dreadfully, although they knew that he couldn't be lost, that Mrs. Cann at last said that she would help them to find him.

Now, Mrs. Cann had grown to be very fond indeed of Winkie Baby, in spite of his troublesome ways; for he was such a pretty, clean, white piggy; and she used to pet him almost as much as the children did. Perhaps Mr. Cann had told her where to look for him; for she led the children straight to the pig-pen, out back of the barn. Cheery and The Chum climbed up on the fence and Mrs. Cann peered over it; but look as they would, they could see never a sign of the pink and white Winkie Baby.

"Why, I was sure he was here!" said Mrs. Cann.

"But he isn't," said Cheery.

"No, he isn't," echoed The Chum.

And just then Mr. Cann came around the corner of the barn. "I thought you said Winkie Baby was here," called Mrs. Cann.

"He is," said her husband, coming nearer.

"I can't see him," said Mrs. Cann, looking again.

"And I can't," at Cheery.

"An' I can't," echoed The Chum.

Mr. Cann laughed, and pointed to a dreadful, black mud-puddle, right in the middle of the pen.

Mrs. Cann shrank back. "That—that isn't Winkie Baby!" she cried, pointing to a small pig, wallowing and rooting in the very deepest of the mud.

"That's just who it is," said Mr. Cann, laughing again.

Mrs. Cann gasped. "That—that—my pretty, clean, pink and white Winkie Baby? Well you just please climb right in there and bring him out. I won't have him look like that!"

Mr. Cann protested, and the children stared with open mouths at the disgracefully dirty, happy little pig; but Mrs. Cann was in earnest, and finally her husband climbed into the pen and fished the baby out of the puddle, in spite of his grunts and squeals, wiped him off with a wisp of hay and turned him loose to follow his rescuers back to the farm house. Once there, Winkie Baby was held under the pump, in spite of his struggles and wails, until he was himself again, and then—he made a wild rush for the nearest chicken pan.