 Well, the fall froze into winter, and the winter thawed to spring, and April watered hill and valley, and Maytime painted everything. And late one evening, just at sundown, I was riding home right slow when I passed a lonesome waterhole and saw it was a show. Old Spot was trailing down the hill, and right behind her trotted ten baby pigs, not ten days old, and every one was spotted. I stopped and stared. She studied me. My eyes filled like a fountain.