In a minute or two, Piggy was mobbed, surrounded, seized first by one of the crowd, and then by a lawful runner. These tumbled over in their struggle without loosing their hold and more of their friends over them, and from the middle of the mass poor Piggy sent up the most vigorous and dismal squeals, till the Committee-men rode in, laying about with their whips; and Farmer Whitfield, springing off, seized Piggy, and in another minute was cantering away with him towards Wayland Smith’s cave. Here he was turned out again for a fair race, and was won by Charles Ebury, of Fernham; who, fearing the results of his racing performances, sold him at once for 10_s._ to the Woolston carrier. But I am happy to say that he wasn’t really hurt, for I went to see him some days afterwards, and found him as hearty as pig could be. Master George and I agreed, as we walked back to the Castle, that it is a shame to have a pig-race. “No,” said he, “let men run any risk they like of broken heads or limbs for themselves; they may play or not as they like. But Piggy has no choice, and to let him run the risk of having the legs pulled out of his body before he is wanted for pork, isn’t fair.” “He didn’t seem to think it was, certainly, Sir,” I said. “No,” said he, laughing; “did you ever hear such a song as he made? No animal can talk like a pig. He can scold or remonstrate just as well as a Christian. Any one who knows the language can tell you just what he is saying. Well,” he went on, “I see you don’t believe me; now I will go and hear what he has to say about this proceeding, and give you it word for word.” [Illustration] This was what he gave me afterwards, with the other songs he had promised me:-- THE LAY OF THE HUNTED PIG. “Vathers, mothers, mothers’ zons! You as loves yer little wuns! Happy pegs among the stubble, Listen to a tale of trouble; Listen, pegs in yeard and stye, How the Barkshire chaps zard I. “I wur barn at Kingstone-Lisle, Wher I vrolicked var a while, As vine a peg as e’er wur zeen (One of a litter o’ thirteen) Till zome chaps wi’ cussed spite Aimed ov I to make a zite, And to have a ‘bit o’ vun,’ Took I up to Uffington. “Up, vorights[35] the Castle mound They did zet I on the ground; Then a thousand chaps, or nigh, Runned and hollered arter I-- Ther, then, I till I wur blowed, Runned and hollered all I knowed, When, zo zure as pegs is pegs, Eight chaps ketched I by the legs, Two to each--’tis truth I tell ’ee-- Dree more clasped I round the belly! Under all they fellers lyin’-- Pegs!--I thought as I wur dyin’. “But the Squire (I thenks I zee un), Varmer Whitfield ridin’ wi’ un, Fot I out o’ all thuck caddle, Stretched athurt the varmer’s zaddle-- Bless ’em, pegs in yeard and stye, Them two vrends as stuck to I.