"There's your white pig?" said Mr. Cann, as soon as he could speak, pointing his finger after the flying Baby. "Is that the sort of pork you're looking for?"
The man shook his head, ruefully. "Won't it wash off?" he asked.
"Indeed it won't," said Mr. Gann: "That's dye-stuff. The genuine article, warranted not to fade. It's what was left from my wife's carpet-rags this morning;—and it's scrubbed into his very skin,—I could see that as he passed. Think you want him?"
The man shook his head. "Nope!" he said. "If I hung that in front of my store, folks would think I kept a barber shop. I guess three pigs will have to be enough this time," and the two men turned away.
Half an hour afterward, Mrs. Cann came and kissed Cheery. "We came very near to losing Winkie Baby," she said; "but his new clothes saved him."
And Cherry heaved a big, happy sigh, and ran to tell The Chum.
