Just as he had proved this to everybody's satisfaction, yelps from Ponto could be heard approaching, and in another moment a large, raw-boned black sow stepped sedately out of the woods on the other side of the branch, and stood meditating. An instant later, she was surrounded by a company of half-grown shoats, which squealed and scurried before Ponto's onslaughts. But evidently Julia herself lived in a serene atmosphere, and took orders from no one. After scrutinizing all of us, and assuring herself that the boys really were Keats and Hen, she grunted deeply and came forward. Not until she got out of the tall weeds, and into the branch, was the joyful discovery made that nine little new pigs followed her closely and shamefacedly. They could not be two days old,--of course they had come purposely to celebrate the boys' visit home,--no one could doubt that! Great was the delight that followed, great the pride expressed in Julia and all her performances. And what a good bait of corn Julia and the shoats got, while the babies helped themselves to their dinner, all but the poor little runt, who was crowded entirely out of reach of his until Hen spanked two of the others and made a place for him! [Illustration: "Not until she got out of the tall weeds, and into the branch, was the joyful discovery made that nine little new pigs followed her closely and shamefacedly."] After making the acquaintance and hearing the family history of various chickens, turkeys, guineas and geese, I was taken up the hollow to the famous pawpaw patch, scene of innumerable 'possum hunts. Here even Ponto showed lively memories of past victories, while Keats, Hen and Hiram all talked at once, describing combats, and pointing out the very trees and logs. Some details of natural history I was able to gather from the confusion, such as: possums allus sull-up when they are kotch; boar possums does a heap of fighting, and it's a sight to hear their noses crack when they are at it, and the best sport ever seed is to ketch two and sic 'em ag'in each other; sow-possums do not fight, and the young uns curl their tails round their maw's and ride on her back when she travels; and, finally, possums are a master-race for wiles, and it is the mark of a man to be able to outwit them. But darkness was beginning to fall, and when the gourd-horn blew for supper, nobody tarried on the way down. Oh, what beans, what "'taters," what "roasting-years," what corn-bread, and above all, what a noble vinegar-pie! Nervesty's reputation was fully sustained,--dangerously so, I feared, as I watched the boys gorge.