It was now the last of March. The fish-hawks and herons began to return, and the whistlers and sea-ducks to come in on to the feeding-grounds.

Charles had business enough. He began to put in practice the lessons he had learned in the winter, and killed four whistlers out of the first flock that came. He launched his canoe, and began to catch rock-fish on the points of the Bull, and a reef that lay about half a mile from the island; he also carried a lot of baskets over to John and Fred to sell.

Often in the morning, just as the day was breaking, Ben and Sally would be awakened from sleep by the report of Charlie’s gun, as at that time the fowl began to come from outside, where they had passed the night sleeping on the water, to their feeding-grounds round the ledges.

Old Mr. Smullen’s black and white sow had twelve pigs. Ben heard of it, and determined to have one of them. Charlie heard him talking about it with Sally. A few days after he went to Sally, and said, “Mother, you know that money that I got for baskets the other day?”

“Yes.”

“I was going to buy some cloth, and have you make me a sail for my boat; but I mean to take the money and buy one of Mr. Smullen’s pigs for father.”

“O, Charlie, I never would do that. You know how you have been looking forward all winter long to having a sail to your boat, and how that birch-bark sail plagues you; it is always ripping out, and coming to pieces, and you have to keep making it over. Ben can buy the pig well enough.”

“But, mother, you know how good father is to me; just as good as he can be. He often lets me go over and see John, when I know he needs me at home, and got all that powder and shot; and he needs every penny to pay for the island, because he has to pay the interest to Mr. Welch, and that, you know, is just the same as paying rent. O, that’s an awful sound! The rent day is dreadful.”

“But, Charlie, it isn’t so here, and Mr. Welch is not like your old-country landlords.”

“Do let me do it, mother. I have made you a sink, and a press-board, and a rolling-pin, and a great wooden spoon, and a bread-trough; but I have never made father anything.”

“Well, Charlie, you are a good boy, and you may do as you wish.”

“Mother, you mustn’t tell him. I want to get the pig and put him in the sty before he knows anything about it.”

“I don’t see how you are going to work to leave the island, and get a pig, and he never know it.”

“O, mother, when a boy gets anything in his head, he is bound to do it, by hook or by crook.”

That very day, when Ben came in to dinner, he said, “Sally, we ought to have that pig to eat the milk. It is too bad to throw away all the skim-milk and buttermilk. I guess I must take time and go over to-night and get him.”

“I wouldn’t go to-night, Ben; you will be going with a raft next week, and I can save the milk till then.”

That night, as soon as the rest were asleep, Charles crept down stairs barefoot, and, sitting down on the door-step, put on his shoes and stockings. He then got into his canoe, and pulled across the water for Captain Rhines’s. When he reached the house Tige was lying on the door-step; the old dog knew Charlie, and came towards him, stretching himself, yawning, and wagging his tail. “Good dog,” said Charlie, patting him on the head. Tige held out his paw to shake hands. Charlie knocked at the door, while the dog stood by him. Captain Rhines put his head out of the window to inquire who was there.

“It’s Charlie.”

“Is anybody sick?”

“No, sir; but I want to see John.”

“What do you want of John, this time of night?”

Charlie told him. The captain called John, and in a few moments the boys were hurrying off for Smullen’s, where they called the old man out of bed, and got the pig, and Charlie was soon on his return to the island. He put the pig in the pen, and creeping up stairs as still as a mouse, got into bed just as the gray light was beginning to break.

As they were eating breakfast they heard a strange sound.

“Hark! what noise is that?” said Ben.

“It sounds like a pig squealing,” said Joe.

“But we haven’t got any pig.”

“I guess it’s a fish-hawk,” said Charles, scarcely able to contain himself at beholding the puzzled look of Ben and Joe. In a few moments a louder and shriller sound arose. “It’s a pig, as I’m a sinner!” exclaimed Joe. Ben rushed out of doors, following the sound, to the sty, where was a bright little black and white pig, about eight weeks old.

“O, what a beauty!” cried Charlie; “I am so glad. Where do you suppose he came from, father?”

“That is what I should like to know.”

“It came from Uncle Jonathan Smullen’s sow, I know,” said Joe; “for it’s just the color, and about the right age. I don’t believe but he brought it on, and is round here somewhere now.”

“He’s too old a man to come on here alone; besides, he never would leave the island without first coming to the house to get something to wet his whistle.”

“Didn’t Uncle Isaac,” said Sally, “know that you were going to have a pig of Smullen?”

“Yes; for I sent word to Smullen by him to save me one.”

“Perhaps he and Uncle Sam have gone over to Smutty Nose, or somewhere, gunning, and brought the pig; they didn’t like to disturb us before day, and so put him in the pen.”

“That’s it, Sally, and they will be here to dinner.” Ben looked in vain for Uncle Isaac all that day; no Uncle Isaac came; but he satisfied himself with the idea that he brought the pig.

The next day, as Ben was sitting after dinner smoking, Charlie came running in, crying that the pig had got out, and run into the woods.

“Then we shall never find him,” said Ben.

Charlie burst into tears.

“Don’t cry, Charlie. Which way did he go?”

“He took right up among the brush and tree-tops, where you cut the timber. I didn’t see him, but I heard him, and followed the sound. There it is again.”

The pig was now heard squealing among a great mass of tops of trees; and, as they followed the sound, it grew fainter in the distance, and finally ceased altogether.

“Is there no way to get him, father?” said Charlie, with downcast looks, while the tears stood in his eyes.

“Perhaps he will come out to-night, and come round the house when he grows hungry, and all is still. I will set a box-trap, and put some corn in it, and we can, I think, catch him.”

While they were talking they heard a squealing in the direction of the sty, and, looking around, saw the pig poking his nose out between the logs, and squealing for his dinner.

With a shout of joy, Charlie jumped over the fence, and caught the pig up in his arms, and hugged him, and scratched him. “You pretty little creature!” said he, “you shall have some dinner. I thought I had lost you. But, father, mother, how did he get back into the pen and we never see him?”

“He never did get back; he has never been out of it.”

“Then, what pig was that in the woods?”

“That’s more than I know, Charles.”

It was Charlie’s turn to be puzzled now, as well as the rest. They examined the pen all round; there was not a crack large enough to let a pig through.

“I declare,” said Sally, “I’m almost frightened.”

“I can’t tell what it means,” said Ben; “there’s certainly another pig in the woods.”

When Ben went to work he told Joe. Joe agreed that it was very strange. About dark they heard it again. That night they set the trap close by the pig-pen, and put some corn in it. “He will hear the other pig,” said Ben, “and come out after we are all abed, and we shall catch him.”

Charlie was up by daylight in the morning; the trap was sprung. He made sure he had caught the pig. They took the trap over into the pen to let him out. Sally and Joe came out to look. “Father,” cried Charlie, “only see that little rogue of a piggee, he’s lonesome. Only look at him, father, smelling round the trap; he thinks he’s going to have a play-fellow and bedfellow.”

While Charlie was chattering away, Ben opened the trap. Charlie was stooping down, with both hands on his knees, looking at the place where the trap was to open. Out jumped a raccoon, right in his face, and went over the side of the pen in an instant. Charlie was so frightened, that, in trying to jump back, he fell on his back, and the pig snorted and ran to his nest. The rest burst into roars of laughter. Joe was so tickled that he lay down on the ground and rolled.

Charlie got up, looking wild and frightened.

“What was it, father, a wolf?”

“No, Charlie, a coon. That was the creature whose tracks you saw in the snow, and thought they were a little child’s.”

“I wish I could see it. I was so startled I had no time to look. Couldn’t I set the trap again, and catch him, and keep him, and have him tame for a pet?” “I wouldn’t. You have got a pig, and the little calf that came the other day. He would be apt to kill the chickens, and suck the eggs, and be a great plague.”

The next morning was one of those delightful spring mornings, which one who has witnessed them on the shore can never forget. The trees partly leaved, were reflected in the glassy water and fish and fowl seemed actuated by an unusual spirit of activity. Ben told Charles it was so calm he wanted him to go over to his father’s, and tell him that he was going to begin to work on the timber the next day, and to ask his mother if she would let one of the girls come over and keep house a little while, as Sally wanted to go home and make a visit.

“Well, Charlie,” said Captain Rhines, “have you come after another pig?”

“No, sir; we’ve got two pigs now.”

“Two pigs!”

“Yes, sir; leastways when we catch one of them.”

He then told him about the pig in the woods—how they tried to find him, and set a trap for him, and caught a raccoon.

“I know who the pig in the woods is,” said John; “it’s Joe Griffin; he can talk like anybody, or imitate any kind of critter. It’s him, I’ll wager my life, and he’s been making fools of the whole of you.”

“I never knew he could do such things.”

“But,” said the captain, “Ben and Sally do; and I should have thought they would have taken the hint before this time. Have they found out where the other pig came from?”

“No, sir; they think Uncle Isaac brought him on when he was going a-gunning.”

“I tell you what you do, Charlie; the next time you hear the pig squeal, you set the brush on fire (the fire won’t do any harm this time of year), and see what comes of it.”

“That I will, sir; I’ll warm his back for him.”

“Did Ben say you must come right back?”

“No, sir; he said it was a good ways for a boy like me to pull, but that I might stay till afternoon; and, if the wind blew hard, stay till it was calm.”

The boys went down to the cave, because Charlie wanted to see Tige catch sculpins and flounders. Then they sat down under the great willow to talk, and John showed Charles the place where Tige tumbled down the bank when Pete Clash and his crew were beating him. “What kind of a time did Fred have on the island?”

“O, he had a bunkum time. He said he never had so good a time in his life.”

“Did he like me?”

“Yes; he liked you first rate. He said he was so glad you didn’t know how to shoot.”

“What for?”

“Because, he said, you knew so much more than he did, and could do so many things, that he should have felt as if he was a fool, if he couldn’t have shown you something.”

“I can shoot now. I shot a blue-bill, and three old squaws, and horse-headed coot last week. When I first got up I saw them in the mouth of the brook; they were playing and diving. When they would dive, I would run up while they were under water, till I got behind some bushes, and then I crawled up and cut away.”

“Fred told me about your bedstead,—how handsome it was,—and about the sink; I must come over and see that. I want you to tell me what you told Fred about the time your father was pressed; won’t you, Charlie?”

“I will, John, some time when we sleep together. I don’t like to tell you in the daytime, because it makes me cry, and I don’t like to cry before folks; but in the night, when we are in bed, I’ll tell you. I liked Fred very much, and so we all did; you tell him I said so—won’t you?”

“Yes; we’ll go over and see him after dinner; by that time the wind will be at the eastward, and you can sail home. Fred has got some tame rabbits.”

“Where did he get them?”

“Some of them are young ones the cat caught, and he got them away from her before she hurt them; and the rest are old ones that he caught in a trap. Are there any rabbits on the island?”

“No, not one; but there’s raccoons and squirrels. Don’t you think, there ain’t any birds there,—only the sea-fowl. Sometimes wild pigeons, woodpeckers, robins, and blue-jays come on there, but they fly right off again; I wish they would stay and build nests. We have such a sight of birds in Lincolnshire! O, I wish you could hear a lark sing! they will start from the ground, and go right up straight in the air, singing all the way; and when you can’t see them you can hear them sing. Why, the swallows build right in the thatch.”

“Thatch! what is that?”

“Why, they cover the houses with straw, instead of shingles.” “I should think the water would run right through.”

“It won’t; they’re just as tight as can be.”

“Can you do it?”

“Yes; I’ve helped my father mend the thatch a hundred times.”

“Some time let’s make a little house, just as they do there, and you make a straw roof.”

“Well, so we will. They make houses there mostly of stone, and we can get plenty of stones, on the island. They make bee-hives there of straw.”

At dinner-time Captain Rhines said, “Wife, you must tell Ben whether you will let him have one of the girls.”

“Indeed, if you are going on there to work, I’ve a good mind to go, too; I ought to know how to keep house by this time.”

“You never said a better thing, wife; you know how much Ben thinks of his mother; he would be in ‘kingdom come.’”

“Well, you are going away this winter, and if I thought the girls could get along—”

“Get along, mother! we’ll get along first rate,” was the unanimous response.

“But then there’s the soap; I was thinking of making soap this week.” This was only adding fuel to the fire. Filled with the idea of making soap, the girls were now determined she should go.

“Why, mother,” said Mary, the eldest, “we can make the soap. I have helped you make it a great many times, and if there is anything I don’t know, I can get Mrs. Hadlock to show us. What shall we be good for, if we are always tied to your apron-strings, and never try to do anything for ourselves?”

“Sure enough,” said the father; “’twill be a good thing for you and John both; you can take care in the house, and he out of doors.”

“I’ll set up the leach for you,” said John; “and after the soap is made, if we have good luck, we’ll have a celebration, and make candy.”

“Come, wife, make up your mind; don’t worry about the children; if I ain’t afraid to leave the farm to John, I’m sure you needn’t be afraid to leave the house to the girls. I’ve no idea of doing with our John as old Peter —— did with his boy Jim. He never learnt Jim to do anything, or contrive anything, for himself, from the time he was hatched. ‘James,’ the old man would say in the morning, ‘do you go into the barn-yard, and look in the north-east corner, and you will find a hoe; take that hoe, and go down to the western field, and begin to hoe on the acre piece, and stick two punkin seeds in every other hill.’ After the old man died, Jim was good for nothing, because he never knew where to find the hoe; lost his land, and is now working out at day’s work, and is as poor as Lazarus.”

Mrs. Rhines was not at all convinced that she was of such little consequence in the household, and that affairs could proceed so easily without her.

“There is that quilt,” she said, “that I meant to have had put into the frames next week.”

This ill-judged speech only made her absence more desirable.

“O, mother!” was the unanimous cry, “we can quilt the quilt.”

“There, girls, hold your tongues; you know you can do no such thing.”

“Yes, mother, we can; because we can get Hannah Murch, Aunt Molly Bradish, and Sukey Griffin, and do it first-rate.”

“I want the fun of quilting it myself. Well, I will go; the quilt can stand till I get back. Charlie, you tell Ben I’m coming to keep house for him, but he must come after me himself, in his great canoe; I’m a scareful creature by water; I ain’t a bit like Mrs. Hadlock or Sally—willing to go any where in a clam-shell.”

The next morning Ben took Sally to the main land, and brought his mother on to the island. It was a great gratification to Ben to have his father and mother on the island, in his own home; and the hours of relaxation from labor were seasons of heartfelt enjoyment.

Charlie lost no time putting into execution Captain Rhines’s directions in respect to the pig, having first enjoined upon them the greatest secrecy, not even permitting them to tell Ben and Sally of his plots and suspicions, lest Joe, who was very quick of perception, should divine what was in store for him.

In the first place, he made a fire of some old oak and maple stumps and chips, in a hollow of the ledge, that he might have some brands at hand whenever he might want them. A day or two passed away, and nothing was heard of the pig. The fire smouldered away in the old roots, and Charlie once in the while flung on fresh fuel.

At length, one day, just after Joe had eaten his dinner, and gone to work, while Ben and the captain sat down to talk a little while with Mrs. Rhines, he heard him squealing in the midst of a great mass of brush, composed of the tops of several large pines, and branches from other trees which had been flung upon them, in clearing a road to haul the logs. The whole mass lay up very high from the ground, and underneath the pig was running about and squealing for dear life. The brush, which had been cut the year before, was full of pitch, and as apt to catch as tinder. The moment Charlie heard the noise, he ran to the place, and began to call, “Pig, pig;” and piggy replied by squealing with all his might.

“Poor piggy, are you hungry? Wait a minute, and I will get you some corn.”

He ran to the house and got some corn in a dish, and to the fire for a brand; he called the pig, rattled the corn in the dish with one hand, and with the other lighted the brush in different places, as he walked around the heap.

“Chook, chook,” cried Charlie; squeal, squeal, went the pig.

The cunning boy had now fired the heap in a dozen places, completely encircling the pig. A slight breeze now sprang up as the flood tide made, and in an instant the fire, which had been gradually making progress, began to roar and crackle, and soon swept through the brush in a sheet of flame. “Jerusalem, what is this!” bellowed a voice, and Joe Griffin leaped out from the midst of the burning pile; the brands rolled off the back of his woollen shirt, which was thoroughly singed, while a fox-skin cap he wore was scorched to a crisp, as was his hair; he ran round and round, as though he was mad, blowing his fingers (which where slightly burned), and slapping them on his thighs, while on his face was a mingled expression of pain, arising from the burn, and anger at being outwitted.

“Pig, pig, pig-e-e!” screamed Charlie, rattling the corn, and laughing as though he would split between every word.

“Shut up, you little brat!” cried Joe, flinging a pitch knot at him with a good will, that, if he had not dodged, would have broken his head.

Roused by the uproar, and smelling the smoke, the whole family ran to see what was the matter. They could not help laughing to see the figure Joe made dancing about, and blowing his fingers.

“What is the matter, Joe?” asked Ben.

“The pig has bit him,” cried Charlie. “O, I wish John was here.”

Joe ran off to the beach to cool his fingers.

“What in the world,” said Ben, “is the reason, that when all of us have always known what a mimic Joe is, that we couldn’t have thought it was him squealing, and making such fools of us. How did you know it was him, Charlie?”

“John told me; and I don’t believe he’ll try to be pig in the brush again.”

“Father,” said Ben, “do you know whether Uncle Isaac has been on any of the islands gunning?”

“No; but I don’t believe he has fired a gun these three weeks; he’s been too busy. Why?”

“Because there’s a pig in the pen that came there we don’t know how; all we know is, that we found him there.”

“Why,” said Mrs. Rhines, looking up from her work, “Charlie got a pig.”

Captain Rhines gave his wife a nudge to keep dark, but it was too late. Ben had heard the remark, and insisted upon knowing.

“Well,” said his mother, “I suppose I am telling tales out of school; but Charlie came to our house in the middle of the night, and called John out of bed, and they took off, as though they were possessed, to Jonathan Smullen’s, after a pig.”

“That was well planned, Charlie,” said Joe; “and I’ll forgive you for singeing me so.”

“I should never have thought of setting the brush on fire, Mr. Griffin, if Captain Rhines had not told me to.”

“We are square now, Joe,” said the captain; “your scorching will do to offset the fright you gave me, when I thought I had shot Ben, having put one bullet through the window, and the other into a milk-pan of eggs, on the dresser.”