Rube Hollenhauser stooped down to pick up a stone, and Bun punched harder than ever; but the pig had the best of it. That harness had not been calculated for any such strain. There was a faint snap, then another, and the pig was free.
He did not pause to look back at the garden he had lost, but he dashed wildly through the open gate, and Jeff banged it shut after him.
"Mother," said Bun, "I believe I can train him to draw."
"Draw?" exclaimed Aunt Dorcas. "He draws well enough now. The trouble is to steer him. What'll your father say to that garden?"
"I'll tell him my 'horse' ran away," said Bun.
"Well," said his mother, "don't you bring him into this yard again. Do your pig-training on the pigs' side of the fence. Come, now; it's time you went on your errand."
"Come on, Rube," remarked Bun. "We'll see about a better harness."
"May I go too?" asked Jeff. "I'm all scratched up."
"Come on, then. You may haul the wagon if you want to."
In a few minutes more they were all away up the street; but the speckled pig over in the barn-yard seemed to be in a manner grunting his morning's experiences for the information of his three relatives. Every now and then, too, one of them answered him with a grunt that seemed to have surprise in it, for neither of them had ever before heard of or from a pig in harness.
How the Postmistress wishes, on these bright May mornings, that she could turn herself into a fairy godmother!
Why, print ever so many more of the dear little letters, bright stories, and tangled puzzles which every day are dropped for her into Uncle Sam's great mail-bags by the children's hands.
Her heart almost aches sometimes when she has to put aside so many clever, amusing, and affectionate letters which can not possibly be crowded into Our Post-office Box. Still, the dear little folks are too sensible to be vexed at the Postmistress, when she can not possibly help herself. You all know she must try to be fair in her treatment of each of her host of correspondents.
When you have anything interesting to write, do not mind even though you may have sent two or three letters already and they have not appeared. Write again.
Now for a word to the Exchangers. I am sorry that several complaints have come about careless little people who forget, when they send their exchanges, to inclose plain directions as to where they live; and, worse still, stories have been told about some who appear to be dishonorable. I will _not_ believe that a single boy who reads YOUNG PEOPLE ever willfully cheats another boy. I am sure this can not happen. But I fear that some lads do not attend as they ought to the standing notice at the head of our exchange list, and I think some may not be sufficiently careful to fully prepay the postage on their budgets, and so the pretty treasures and rare curiosities are sent away to the Dead-letter Office.