Foam—A Razor-Backed Hog 
gave the far-reaching call; and this time, listening, 
heard sounds of going, of trampling, of coming; 
then her heart turned sick. Some one was coming. 
Who? If it were her father he would shout aloud. 
But this came only with the swish of moving feet. 
What if it should be one of those half-wild negro 
tramps! “Oh, father, help!” She tried to hide 
as the sounds came nearer—hide by burying her- 
self in sand. 
The reptile never stirred. 
The bushes swayed above the steep bank. Yes, 
now she saw a dark and moving form. Her first 
thought was a “Bear.” The bushes parted, and 
forth came little Foam, grown somewhat, but a 
youngster still. Lizette’s heartsank. “Oh, Foam, 
Foamy, if you only could help me!” and she sent a 
feeble whistle that was meant for her father, but 
the Razor-back it was that responded. 
Passing quickly along the bank, he came. There 
was but one way down. It led to the little sandy 
spit where lay her clothes, and her deadly foe. 
Overleaping logs and low brush came the agile 
Razor-back. He landed on the sand, and suddenly 
was face to face with the rattling, buzzing banded 
Death. 
Both taken by surprise recoiled, and made 
iready for attack. Lizette felt a heart clutch, to see 
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