Tim Sullivan started from the town with a heavy heart, but as he left the smoke and noise behind him, the pleasant sunshine and fresh autumn breeze soon began to work a change in his spirits. It was good to see green fields again, and he wished he could walk on and on, and never return to the town life he disliked so much.

After all, what was to prevent him? His uncle had been reproaching him that very morning for his idleness at school, and had told him he would never be worth anything in the office.

'It is high time you were beginning to be of some use,' he had said. 'I did not bargain to keep you for nothing when I took you in on your father's death.'

And poor Tim knew it was hard on his uncle to have this addition to his large family. He really did try to get on at school, but it was no good. He could not learn, and the harder he tried the more stupid he seemed to grow.

Before the death of his parents, when he lived such a happy life on the little farm in Ireland, it was not so noticeable that he was not quite like other boys. Lessons were not held of much account there, and no boy of his age could have been more useful than Tim in all farm, field, or garden work; so that it was a new experience for the poor boy to be taunted with his uselessness and stupidity, and it caused him great unhappiness.

As he trudged along, a familiar grunt suddenly made him feel he must be in old Ireland again. He looked round and saw a pig rooting in the ditch by the side of the road.

'Has he got astray?' he asked a man who was breaking stones close by.

'Likely enough,' was the answer. 'Farmer Smale's man was driving home pigs from market yesterday, and I thought as he passed he was getting a bit old for work—and pigs are uncommon difficult to drive too.'

'Not if you know the right way to set about it,' said Tim. 'Instead of holloing and shouting and beating it with a stick, you should just stoop down and catch the eye of the cratur, and sure he will go the way you want.'

The man grinned. 'You're from the Ould Counthry—no need to tell me that, my broth of a boy!'

Tim nodded, with an answering twinkle in his eye.

'If you tell me where Farmer Smale lives, I will drive this pig there,' he said.

The directions were given. Tim soon had the pig before him, and all his troubles were forgotten in an occupation which reminded him of old times.

'Perhaps doing the farmer and the pig a good turn will bring me something good,' he thought.

There was a tremendous grunting in the farmyard when the wanderer rejoined his companions. Farmer Smale came out, followed by his wife, to see what was causing such a commotion.

'Well, you are a smart boy,' the farmer said. 'You must come in and rest and have some tea, for pig-driving is a tiring business.'

'It's not tired I am, sir. I only wish I had a chance to drive pigs every day. You will not be wanting a boy to help on your farm, will you, sir?'

'Why, my lad, you don't look cut out for hard work,' the farmer said, for Tim's stunted growth, and the large head, out of proportion to his small body, made him look less strong than other boys.

'I can work hard with my hands,' he said. 'It is only lessons and figures which bother me.'

'Well, I am afraid I have no berth here for you, my lad. Besides, I could not take a boy I knew nothing about, even if he was kind enough to bring home my pig.'

Tim's face fell. He looked bitterly disappointed.

'Have you no people of your own, my dear?' asked Mrs. Smale, and Tim thought she had the kindest face he had ever seen.

'Now, missus, you go in and get tea ready for this little chap,' her husband said.

He wanted to have her out of the way, for he knew how soft-hearted his wife was. She never could turn away a tramp or a beggar from her door; she gave food and shelter to all stray dogs and cats, and a blackbird in a cage outside the window bore witness to her kind nature. She had rescued a nest full of fledglings from some cruel boys and had tried to bring them up by hand. Only one survived, and although she had set it free when it was old enough to take care of itself, it often flew back to its old home, the door of which was always left open.

While they were having tea, Mrs. Smale drew from the boy all his sad little story, and of course she wanted the farmer to give him a home.

'Will Ford is getting old, and needs some help in attending to the animals,' she said.

'I had a lot to do with cattle on Father's farm,' Tim broke in eagerly, 'and I know all there is to know about pigs, though I am no scholar.'

The farmer smiled. 'I suppose I shall have to give you a chance, sonny, as the missus has set her heart on it. But I must see this uncle of yours. Perhaps he may object.'

'He will be glad to get rid of me,' Tim said.

His words proved true, and before a week had passed Tim was settled in his new home. He worked with a will, and liked his work, because he felt he was at last of some use in the world instead of being a burden to others.

And the pig that had led him to such a happy position received such a special share of attention that he grew fatter and bigger than any of his fellows.

'One good turn deserves another,' Tim would think. 'The pig got me this job, and sure and I am paying him back for it.'