of the animal, leaving it doubtful whether he would succeed in pulling a captured leg from under him, and as to which side he would roll off on.
"There you're wrong," persisted Tom. "One injunction they gave me at the stables in town was, 'Keep to the right, sir, that's the rule of the road.' I always remember that, and know, at least, on which side to mount my horse."
"Well, get down now. Here, on the right side. Not like that," said Frank. "Grasp the mane and reins in your hand, and come down—so; let me turn you round, beside the shoulder, not at the flank, ready to be kicked."
"Then what'll a fellow do if he runs away? I like to keep my eye on the brute all the while."
"Come on," laughed Frank, "I must be off to my pigs."
Beyond the great cow-yard was the piggery. From the creamery a pipe high in air conveyed the skim-milk to a long trough about which pigs many and sundry were grunting, jostling, thrusting with nose and shoulder, devouring what they could; then, if the young people would let them, trampling the residue with their feet.
"Greedy creatures, these dirty pigs," soliloquized Tom, as the two leaned for a moment upon the fence.
"Irresistibly reminding of your vaunted social life in town—both alike a selfish, dog-in-the-manger scramble," remarked Frank, waggishly.
"That's rough, old man."
"But true to life nevertheless. There's a lot of the hog in our nature, and it comes out very strongly in the city. But these pigs are not dirty. Look at their glossy coats."
"But all pigs are dirty by nature."
"There you are generalizing again, and accepting
