The articles he had asked for were soon provided, and in the slow, grave way in which he did everything, Mr. Collins began to make the strange animal of which he had spoken. The lemon formed the whole pig, with four matches for his legs, two black pins for his eyes, and a narrow strip of paper, first curled round a match, for his tail. It was neither artistic nor realistic, but it was an exceedingly comical pig, and soon it began to squeak in an astonishingly pig-like voice. Then a tap at the window was heard, and a farmer's gruff voice shouted: "Have you my pig in there? My little Lemmy pig?" "Yes," responded Mr. Collins, "we have; and we mean to keep him, too." "I'll have the law of ye," shouted the farmer. "Me pig escaped from the sty, and I call upon ye to give him up!" "We won't do it!" shouted several of the men in chorus. "Then, kape him!" returned the voice of the farmer, and they heard his heavy tramp as he strode away. Patty looked puzzled. She couldn't understand what it all meant, until Hal Ferris whispered, "It was only Collins; he's a ventriloquist." "Oh," said Patty, turning to Mr. Collins, delightedly, "was it really you? Oh, how do you do it? I've always wanted to hear a ventriloquist, and I never did before." "Oh, yes, you did!" said a voice from the other end of the table, and Patty looked up, saying earnestly, "No, I didn't!" when she realised that the accusation had really come from Mr. Collins. "Oh, what fun!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Do some more!" "I'd rather he wouldn't," said Adele, and Patty looked at her in surprise. "Why not, Adele?" she asked. Everybody laughed, and Adele said: "You're too easily fooled, Patty. That was Mr. Collins speaking like me. He knows my voice so well he can imitate it." "He'd better stop it!" came in a deep growl from Jim Kenerley's end of the table, and Patty was surprised at such a speech from her urbane host. Then she realised that that, too, was Mr. Collins speaking. "I just love it!" she exclaimed. "I've always wanted to know how to do it. Won't you teach me?" "You couldn't learn," said Mr. Collins, smiling at her. And then Patty _heard herself_ say: "I could so! I think you're real mean!" Her bewildered look changed to admiration at his wonderful imitation of her voice, and the natural, petulant tone of the remark. "It's too wonderful!" she said. "Some other time, Mr. Collins, after dinner, maybe, will you teach me just a little about it?" "I'll try," he said, kindly; "but I warn you, Miss Fairfield, it isn't easy to learn, unless one has a natural gift for it, and a peculiar throat formation." "Don't teach her," begged Daisy Dow. "She'll be keeping us awake all night with her practising." It was like Daisy to say something unpleasant; but Patty only smiled at her, and said, "I'll practise being an angel, and sing you to sleep, Daisy."