Peterkin was usually sent on this errand when we wanted a pork
chop (which was not seldom), because he was so active and could run so
wonderfully fast that he found no difficulty in overtaking the hogs;
but, being dreadfully reckless, he almost invariably tumbled over
stumps and stones in the course of his wild chase, and seldom returned
home without having knocked the skin off his shins. Once, indeed, a
more serious accident happened to him. He had been out all the morning
alone, and did not return at the usual time to dinner. We wondered at
this, for Peterkin was always very punctual at the dinner-hour. As
supper-time drew near, we began to be anxious about him, and at length
sallied forth to search the woods. For a long time we sought in vain,
but a little before dark we came upon the tracks of the hogs, which we
followed up until we came to the brow of a rather steep bank or
precipice. Looking over this, we beheld Peterkin lying in a state of
insensibility at the foot, with his cheek resting on the snout of a
little pig, which was pinned to the earth by the spear. We were
dreadfully alarmed, but hastened to bathe his forehead with water, and
had soon the satisfaction of seeing him revive. After we had carried
him home, he related to us how the thing had happened.
"You must know," said he, "I walked about all the forenoon, till I was
as tired as an old donkey, without seeing a single grunter--not so much
as a track of one; but as I was determined not to return empty-handed,
I resolved to go without my dinner, and--"
"What!" exclaimed Jack, "did you _really_ resolve to do that?"
"Now, Jack, hold your tongue," returned Peterkin.
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