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then,” he said to the dealer,”here are all the numbers on the ear tags of these pigs. Let’s have a look and see if they match, shall we?”
    Mr. Crook knew when he was beaten.
    â€œHang on a minute,” he said to his hauler, and he took the farmer across the yard to his office.
    â€œAm I pleased to see you, sir!” he said. “I’ve been keeping those pigs safe, hoping someone would claim them. Couldn’t afford to keep them any longer, you know—eating me out of house and home. Just loading them up to send to a friend of mine who’s got a bit of rough ground …”
    â€œDon’t bother spinning me a cock-and-bull
story about it,” said the farmer. “I know the dates of the markets. I’ll tell you where you’re sending them, and that’s straight to my farm. You’ll pay the haulage, of course.”
    â€œThey’ve cost me a lot already,” said Mr. Crook sullenly.
    â€œAnd they’d have earned you a nice lot, too, if I hadn’t turned up,” said the farmer.
    â€œHow did you know where to come?”
    The farmer looked at the dealer.
    Then he looked at Damaris.
    Then he looked at a shotgun, propped in the corner of the office.

    Then he suddenly knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what had happened.
    â€œThe duck told me,” he said. “I’ll send you the vet’s bill.”

    Mr. Crook mopped his face with a large spotted handkerchief. “No need for us to say anything to anybody else about all this business, is there, sir?” he said.
    â€œNo need at all,” said the farmer. “And I’ll tell the duck to keep quiet about it too.”

8
    Clever Duck!
    â€œThere’s no place like home,” grunted Mrs. Stout to Mrs. Portly as the pigs made their way down the tailgate of the cattle truck and through the freshly mended gate into their old paddock.
    â€œQuite right, dear,” said Mrs. Portly.

    â€œJourney’s end,” said Mrs. O’Bese, “and it was a miserable old journey, so it was.”
    â€œHear, hear!” said Mrs. Chubby, Mrs. Tubby, Mrs. Swagbelly, and Mrs. Roly-Poly.
    Only Firingclose General Lord Nicholas of Winningshot said nothing. The promised land had not lived up to its promise, and for once he thought it wise to keep his mouth shut. What’s more, he soon found that he no longer had one of the two pig huts to himself, for the sows took over both of them. They grumbled so loudly when he meekly tried to push in, that he often
found himself sleeping outside. A male chauvinist pig he may once have been, but now he was to his wives just a boring old boar, and they did not hesitate to tell him so.
    Two months later, however, the General had the paddock to himself. His wives had all been moved to a range of farrowing houses to await the birth of their children.
    Damaris felt sorry for the boar. Once her wing was fully healed, she flew over now and again for a chat. Not that she got a word in edgewise. The General had lost much of his authority but none of his gift of gab. He appeared quite unaware of the duck’s part in the rescue, as indeed were all the sows except one.

    Mrs. O’Bese alone mentioned it when Damaris went visiting the expectant mothers.
    â€œSure and it was you that found us, wasn’t it, duck?” she said. “I knew you were the clever one, right from the start. ‘If you don’t know what an ignoramus is,’ you said, ‘then you must be one.’ Begorra, you could have knocked me down with a duck’s feather. And I never thought much of ducks before.”

    â€œWhy not?” said Damaris.
    â€œToo stupid, I thought. Don’t know anything.”
    â€œActually,” said Damaris, “I never thought much of pigs before.”
    â€œWhy not?” said Mrs. O’Bese.
    â€œToo clever by half. Think they know everything.”
    Mrs. O’Bese gave a fusillade of little grunts that