We drove as far as Gray Corners, where there
was a country store, and there I bought a bushel of oats for the horses
and a hundred-pound bag of corn for the hogs. The hogs were so ravenous
that it was hard to be sure that each got his proper share; but we did
the best we could and somewhat reduced their squealing.
The hastily repaired wagon body had also given us trouble, for it had
threatened to shake to pieces as it jolted over the frozen ruts of the
road; but we bought a pound of nails, borrowed a hammer and set to work
to repair it better, with the hogs still aboard--much to the amusement
of a crowd of boys who had collected. It was almost noon when we left
Gray Corners, and it was after three o'clock before we reached
Westbrook, five miles out of Portland. Here whom should we see but the
old Squire, who, growing anxious over our failure to appear, had driven
out to meet us. He could not help smiling when he heard Willis's
indignant account of what had delayed us.
He thought it likely that we could recover the missing hog, and that
evening he inserted a notice of the loss in the _Eastern Argus_. But
nothing came of the notice or of the many inquiries that we made on our
way home the next day.
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