Foam—A Razor-Backed Hog 
tongue massage of the part where there is a bruise 
or an open wound. 
And who is the doctor who prescribes the time 
and measure? Only this: the craving of the body. 
Take the thing and so much of it as is agreeable; 
when it becomes painful or even irksome, that is 
the body’s way of saying ‘‘ enough.” 
These are the healing ways of animals, these are 
the things that every woodsman knows. These 
are the things that are discovered anew each gener- 
ation by some prophet of our kind. If he calls 
them by their simple names he is mocked, but if 
he gives them Latin names, he is'a great scientist 
and receives world rewards. 
Autumn came on Mayo Valley, a thousand little 
yellow fairy boats were sailing southward on Kogar’s 
Creek, and the “pat, pat, pit” of falling nuts was 
heard through all the woods. Rich, growing food 
are nuts, and Foam was busied stuffing himself 
each day: racing perhaps after butterflies, pretend- 
ing to root up some big tree, kneeling to swing his 
head and gash the sod with his growing tusks, spring- 
. ing to his feet to bound a few yards, then halt. in 
a moment, frozen to a statue. Rejoicing in his 
strength, he grew more strong, and the skating of 
the final leaves that left the trees found him grown 
, in shank and jaw, lank and light as yet, but framing 
