Foam—A Razot-Backed Hog 
the last delightful pleasures must be classed as 
crime. More than once when he was riotously 
chasing Muff or tumbling Fluff into the buttermilk, 
his mistress, without showing herself or speaking, 
merely gave a short whistle, the effect of which was 
to send a guilty-looking little pig to hide in the 
bushes. Surely he was conscience-stricken. 
Now it happened one morning that Lizette looked 
from her window over the garden and saw Foam 
standing very still, with his head low and sidewise, 
his eyes blinking, the very tip of his tail alone 
twisting—just his attitude when planning some 
mischief. She was about to use her whistle, but 
waited a moment to be sure. The lamb was lying 
under the tiny rainshed in a sort of dull somnolence. 
Suddenly the duck said ‘‘Quack,” and ran from the 
grass to cower beside the lamb. The latter gave a 
start and blew its nose. Then out of the tall weeds 
there dashed a lumbering, wolfish puppy dog, 
breaking into a volley of glorious ‘‘yaps” as he 
charged on the helpless duckling. What fun # 
was! And the lamb, too, was so frightened tha 
ay the valiant puppy assailed it without fear. 
“Yap, yap, yap!” How bravea dog can b 
, when his victim runs or is helpless!) The duc 
