Another grunt and half a dozen squeals, much louder than before, came down the valley. At this time we were just opposite the small vale which lay between the Valley of the Wreck and Spouting Cliff.
"I say, Peterkin," cried Jack, in a hoarse whisper.
"Well, what is't?"
"Stay a bit, man. These grunters are just up there on the hill-side. If you go and stand with Ralph in the lee of yon cliff, I'll cut round behind and drive them through the gorge, so that you'll have a better chance of picking out a good one. Now, mind you pitch into a fat young pig, Peterkin," added Jack, as he sprang into the bushes.
"Won't I, just!" said Peterkin, licking his lips, as we took our station beside the cliff. "I feel quite a tender affection for young pigs in my heart. Perhaps it would be more correct to say in my s—."
"There they come!" cried I, as a terrific yell from Jack sent the whole herd screaming down the hill. Now, Peterkin, being unable to hold back, crept a short way up a very steep, grassy mound, in order to get a better view of the hogs before they came up; and just as he raised his head above its summit, two little pigs, which had outrun their companions, rushed over the top with the utmost precipitation. One of these brushed close past Peterkin's ear; the other, unable to arrest its headlong flight, went, as Peterkin, himself afterwards expressed it, "bash," into his arms with a sudden squeal, which was caused more by the force of the blow than the will of the animal, and both of them rolled violently down to the foot of the mound. No sooner was this reached than the little pig recovered its feet, tossed up its tail, and fled shrieking from the spot. But I slang a large stone after
