But as I
hurried by I heard some hogs making a great noise--apparently under the
barn. They were grunting, squealing, and "barking" gruffly, as if they
were angry.
As I stopped for an instant to listen, I heard a low, faint cry, almost
a moan, which seemed to come from under the barn. It was so unmistakably
a cry of distress that, in spite of my haste, I went up to the barn
door. Again I heard above the roars of the hogs that pitiful cry. The
great door of the barn stood partly open, and entering the dark,
evil-smelling old building, I walked slowly along toward that end of it
from which the sounds came.
Presently I came upon a rickety trapdoor, which opened into the hogpen;
the cover of the trapdoor was turned askew and hung down into the dark
hole. Beside the hole lay a heap of freshly pulled turnips, with the
green tops still on them.
The hogs were making a terrible noise below, but above their squealing I
heard those faint moans.
"Who's down there?" I called. "What's the matter?"
From the dark, foul hole there came up the plaintive voice of a child.
"Oh, oh, take me out! The hogs are eating me up! They've bit me and bit
me!"
It was little Ike.
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