Them Notorious Pigs by Lucy Maud Montgomery
John Harrington was a woman-hater, or thought that he was, which
amounts to the same thing. He was forty-five and, having been handsome
in his youth, was a fine-looking man still. He had a remarkably good
farm and was a remarkably good farmer. He also had a garden which was
the pride and delight of his heart or, at least, it was before Mrs.
Hayden's pigs got into it.
Sarah King, Harrington's aunt and housekeeper, was deaf and crabbed,
and very few visitors ever came to the house. This suited Harrington.
He was a good citizen and did his duty by the community, but his bump
of sociability was undeveloped. He was also a contented man, looking
after his farm, improving his stock, and experimenting with new bulbs
in undisturbed serenity. This, however, was all too good to last. A
man is bound to have some troubles in this life, and Harrington's were
near their beginning when Perry Hayden bought the adjoining farm from
the heirs of Shakespeare Ely, deceased, and moved in.
To be sure, Perry Hayden, poor fellow, did not bother Harrington much,
for he died of pneumonia a month after he came there, but his widow
carried on the farm with the assistance of a lank hired boy. Her own
children, Charles and Theodore, commonly known as Bobbles and Ted,
were as yet little more than babies.
The real trouble began when Mary Hayden's pigs, fourteen in number and
of half-grown voracity, got into Harrington's garden. A railing, a fir
grove, and an apple orchard separated the two establishments, but
these failed to keep the pigs within bounds.
Harrington had just got his garden planted for the season, and to go
out one morning and find a horde of enterprising porkers rooting about
in it was, to put it mildly, trying. He was angry, but as it was a
first offence he drove the pigs out with tolerable calmness, mended
the fence, and spent the rest of the day repairing damages.
Three days later the pigs got in again. Harrington relieved his mind
by some scathing reflections on women who tried to run farms. Then he
sent Mordecai, his hired man, over to the Hayden place to ask Mrs.
Hayden if she would be kind enough to keep her pigs out of his garden.
Mrs. Hayden sent back word that she was very sorry and would not let
it occur again. Nobody, not even John Harrington, could doubt that she
meant what she said. But she had reckoned without the pigs. They had
not forgotten the flavour of Egyptian fleshpots as represented by the
succulent young shoots in the Harrington domains. A week later
Mordecai came in and told Harrington that "them notorious pigs" were
in his garden again.
There is a limit to everyone's patience. Harrington left Mordecai to
drive them out, while he put on his hat and stalked over to the
Haydens' place. Ted and Bobbles were playing at marbles in the lane
and ran when they saw him coming. He got close up to the little low
house among the apple trees before Mordecai appeared in the yard,
driving the pigs around the barn. Mrs. Hayden was sitting on her
doorstep, paring her dinner potatoes, and stood up hastily when she
saw her visitor.
Harrington had never seen his neighbour at close quarters before. Now
he could not help seeing that she was a very pretty little woman, with
wistful, dark blue eyes and an appealing expression. Mary Hayden had
been next to a beauty in her girlhood, and she had a good deal of her
bloom left yet, although hard work and worry were doing their best to
rob her of it. But John Harrington was an angry man and did not care
whether the woman in question was pretty or not. Her pigs had rooted
up his garden—that fact filled his mind.
"Mrs. Hayden, those pigs of yours have been in my garden again. I
simply can't put up with this any longer. Why in the name of reason
don't you look after your animals better? If I find them in again I'll
set my dog on them, I give you fair warning."
A faint colour had crept into Mary Hayden's soft, milky-white cheeks
during this tirade, and her voice trembled as she said, "I'm very
sorry, Mr. Harrington. I suppose Bobbles forgot to shut the gate of
their pen again this morning. He is so forgetful."
"I'd lengthen his memory, then, if I were you," returned Harrington
grimly, supposing that Bobbles was the hired man. "I'm not going to
have my garden ruined just because he happens to be forgetful. I am
speaking my mind plainly, madam. If you can't keep your stock from
being a nuisance to other people you ought not to try to run a farm at
Then did Mrs. Hayden sit down upon the doorstep and burst into tears.
Harrington felt, as Sarah King would have expressed it, "every which
way at once." Here was a nice mess! What a nuisance women were—worse
than the pigs!
"Oh, don't cry, Mrs. Hayden," he said awkwardly. "I didn't mean—well,
I suppose I spoke too strongly. Of course I know you didn't mean to
let the pigs in. There, do stop crying! I beg your pardon if I've hurt
"Oh, it isn't that," sobbed Mrs. Hayden, wiping away her tears. "It's
only—I've tried so hard—and everything seems to go wrong. I make
such mistakes. As for your garden, sir. I'll pay for the damage my
pigs have done if you'll let me know what it comes to."
She sobbed again and caught her breath like a grieved child.
Harrington felt like a brute. He had a queer notion that if he put his
arm around her and told her not to worry over things women were not
created to attend to he would be expressing his feelings better than
in any other way. But of course he couldn't do that. Instead, he
muttered that the damage didn't amount to much after all, and he hoped
she wouldn't mind what he said, and then he got himself away and
strode through the orchard like a man in a desperate hurry.
Mordecai had gone home and the pigs were not to be seen, but a chubby
little face peeped at him from between two scrub, bloom-white cherry
"G'way, you bad man!" said Bobbles vindictively. "G'way! You made my
mommer cry—I saw you. I'm only Bobbles now, but when I grow up I'll
be Charles Henry Hayden and you won't dare to make my mommer cry
Harrington smiled grimly. "So you're the lad who forgets to shut the
pigpen gate, are you? Come out here and let me see you. Who is in
there with you?"
"Ted is. He's littler than me. But I won't come out. I don't like you.
Harrington obeyed. He went home and to work in his garden. But work as
hard as he would, he could not forget Mary Hayden's grieved face.
"I was a brute!" he thought. "Why couldn't I have mentioned the matter
gently? I daresay she has enough to trouble her. Confound those pigs!"
After that there was a time of calm. Evidently something had been done
to Bobbles' memory or perhaps Mrs. Hayden attended to the gate
herself. At all events the pigs were not seen and Harrington's garden
blossomed like the rose. But Harrington himself was in a bad state.
For one thing, wherever he looked he saw the mental picture of his
neighbour's tired, sweet face and the tears in her blue eyes. The
original he never saw, which only made matters worse. He wondered what
opinion she had of him and decided that she must think him a cross old
bear. This worried him. He wished the pigs would break in again so
that he might have a chance to show how forbearing he could be.
One day he gathered a nice mess of tender young greens and sent them
over to Mrs. Hayden by Mordecai. At first he had thought of sending
her some flowers, but that seemed silly, and besides, Mordecai and
flowers were incongruous. Mrs. Hayden sent back a very pretty message
of thanks, whereat Harrington looked radiant and Mordecai, who could
see through a stone wall as well as most people, went out to the barn
"Ef the little widder hain't caught him! Who'd a-thought it?"
The next day one adventurous pig found its way alone into the
Harrington garden. Harrington saw it get in and at the same moment he
saw Mrs. Hayden running through her orchard. She was in his yard by
the time he got out.
Her sunbonnet had fallen back and some loose tendrils of her auburn
hair were curling around her forehead. Her cheeks were so pink and her
eyes so bright from running that she looked almost girlish.
"Oh, Mr. Harrington," she said breathlessly, "that pet pig of Bobbles'
is in your garden again. He only got in this minute. I saw him coming
and I ran right after him."
"He's there, all right," said Harrington cheerfully, "but I'll get him
out in a jiffy. Don't tire yourself. Won't you go into the house and
rest while I drive him around?"
Mrs. Hayden, however, was determined to help and they both went around
to the garden, set the gate open, and tried to drive the pig out. But
Harrington was not thinking about pigs, and Mrs. Hayden did not know
quite so much about driving them as Mordecai did; as a consequence
they did not make much headway. In her excitement Mrs. Hayden ran over
beds and whatever came in her way, and Harrington, in order to keep
near her, ran after her. Between them they spoiled things about as
much as a whole drove of pigs would have done.
But at last the pig grew tired of the fun, bolted out of the gate, and
ran across the yard to his own place. Mrs. Hayden followed slowly and
Harrington walked beside her.
"Those pigs are all to be shut up tomorrow," she said. "Hiram has been
fixing up a place for them in his spare moments and it is ready at
"Oh, I wouldn't," said Harrington hastily. "It isn't good for pigs to
be shut up so young. You'd better let them run a while yet."
"No," said Mrs. Hayden decidedly. "They have almost worried me to
death already. In they go tomorrow."
They were at the lane gate now, and Harrington had to open it and let
her pass through. He felt quite desperate as he watched her trip up
through the rows of apple trees, her blue gingham skirt brushing the
lush grasses where a lacy tangle of sunbeams and shadows lay. Bobbles
and Ted came running to meet her and the three, hand in hand,
disappeared from sight.
Harrington went back to the house, feeling that life was flat, stale,
and unprofitable. That evening at the tea table he caught himself
wondering what it would be like to see Mary Hayden sitting at his
table in place of Sarah King, with Bobbles and Ted on either hand.
Then he found out what was the matter with him. He was in love,
fathoms deep, with the blue-eyed widow!
Presumably the pigs were shut up the next day, for Harrington's garden
was invaded no more. He stood it for a week and then surrendered at
discretion. He filled a basket with early strawberries and went across
to the Hayden place, boldly enough to all appearance, but with his
heart thumping like any schoolboy's.
The front door stood hospitably open, flanked by rows of defiant red
and yellow hollyhocks. Harrington paused on the step, with his hand
outstretched to knock. Somewhere inside he heard a low sobbing.
Forgetting all about knocking, he stepped softly in and walked to the
door of the little sitting-room. Bobbles was standing behind him in
the middle of the kitchen but Harrington did not see him. He was
looking at Mary Hayden, who was sitting by the table in the room with
her arms flung out over it and her head bowed on them. She was crying
softly in a hopeless fashion.
Harrington put down his strawberries. "Mary!" he exclaimed.
Mrs. Hayden straightened herself up with a start and looked at him,
her lips quivering and her eyes full of tears.
"What is the matter?" said Harrington anxiously. "Is anything wrong?"
"Oh, nothing much," Said Mrs. Hayden, trying to recover herself. "Yes,
there is too. But it is very foolish of me to be going on like this. I
didn't know anyone was near. And I was feeling so discouraged. The
colt broke his leg in the swamp pasture today and Hiram had to shoot
him. It was Ted's colt. But there, there is no use in crying over it."
And by way of proving this, the poor, tired, overburdened little woman
began to cry again. She was past caring whether Harrington saw her or
The woman-hater was so distressed that he forgot to be nervous. He sat
down and put his arm around her and spoke out what was in his mind
without further parley.
"Don't cry, Mary. Listen to me. You were never meant to run a farm and
be killed with worry. You ought to be looked after and petted. I want
you to marry me and then everything will be all right. I've loved you
ever since that day I came over here and made you cry. Do you think
you can like me a little, Mary?"
It may be that Mrs. Hayden was not very much surprised, because
Harrington's face had been like an open book the day they chased the
pig out of the garden together. As for what she said, perhaps Bobbles,
who was surreptitiously gorging himself on Harrington's strawberries,
may tell you, but I certainly shall not.
The little brown house among the apple trees is shut up now and the
boundary fence belongs to ancient history. Sarah King has gone also
and Mrs. John Harrington reigns royally in her place. Bobbles and Ted
have a small, blue-eyed, much-spoiled sister, and there is a pig on
the estate who may die of old age, but will never meet his doom
otherwise. It is Bobbles' pig and one of the famous fourteen.
Mordecai still shambles around and worships Mrs. Harrington. The
garden is the same as of yore, but the house is a different place and
Harrington is a different man. And Mordecai will tell you with a
chuckle, "It was them notorious pigs as did it all."