"Yes, please do," said Mamma. "Get your little Indian basket and put some cotton in it, and we'll have the winkie baby comfortable right away."
Cheery laughed. "That's what I called him, is'nt it!" she said. "I don't know why I did it, only he just looked that way."
When Cheery returned with the basket, Aunt Beth was coming out of the dining-room with a little butter-plate upon which was just one teaspoonful of oatmeal and cream. She held it in front of the winkie baby's nose, and suddenly he seemed to remember that he was a pig, and though he was so tiny that the meal was a very large one for him, yet no great big pig at a great big trough, ever got his fore-feet into his breakfast more eagerly, or grunted finer grunts—for his size. When he had finished, Mamma wrapped him in a bit of cloth and put him on the cotton-wool in the basket and set the basket in the sunshine, and she and Cheery each gave him a little loving pat and a little loving thought, as they turned to answer the breakfast bell.
