And his brothers and sisters, seeing him do this, began to eat the pig weed also.

Then, as he saw a bunch of pig weed close to him, he began nibbling that.

And potatoes were better than pig weed.

But I'll give you a nice lot of pig weed, just the same, for you must be hungry.

He ate and ate the pig weed, until he had eaten about as much as was good for him.

So, though he was very hungry, he would not eat a bit of the pig weed that grew near the pen.

Perhaps this was true, but I imagine the reason the pig weed tasted so much better was because Squinty was running away.

He ran toward a large bunch of the juicy, green pig weed, but before he reached it he heard a dreadful noise.

But, if pig weed is no good for the garden, it is good for pigs, and they like to chew the green leaves.

Soon he was some distance from the pen, and then he thought it would be safe to nibble at a bit of pig weed.

I wish I had not eaten so much pig weed, then I could eat more of those funny, round things the farmer calls potatoes.

At first he was a little frightened, but when he looked over into the potato patch, and saw pig weed growing there he was happy.

There were no tracks at the entrance to the road, but the grass and pig weed farther on seemed to be mashed down in places.

"Yes, I found some pig weed, and ate that, and some little potatoes."

"Perhaps I may find some potatoes, or some pig weed, here," thought Squinty.

"I have had potatoes and pig weed," he thought, "and now I would like some apples.