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One dreadful night she found out. She was smuggled down between the great fat piggies to keep warm; but her toes were cold, and she was trying to pull the straw over them when she heard Mr. Gleason say to his boy,–

“We must kill those pigs to-morrow. They are fat enough; so come and help me sharpen the big knife.”

“Oh, dear, what will become of me?” thought Betty, as she heard the grindstone go round and round as the knife got sharper and sharper. “I look so like a pig they will kill me too, and make me into sausages if I don’t run away. I’m tired of playing piggy, and I’d rather be washed a hundred times a day than be put in a pork barrel.”

So she lay trembling till morning; then she ran through the garden and found the back door open. It was very early, and no one saw her, for the cook was in the shed getting wood to make her fire; so Betty slipped upstairs to the nursery and was going to whisk into bed, when she saw in the glass an ugly black creature, all rags and dirt, with rumpled hair, and a little round nose covered with mud.

“Can it be me?” she said. “How horrid I am!” And she could not spoil her nice white bed, but hopped into the bathtub and had a good scrubbing. Next she got a clean nightgown, and brushed her hair, and cut her long nails, and looked like a tidy little girl again.

Then she lay down in her cosey crib with the pink cover and the lace curtains, and fell fast asleep, glad to have clean sheets, soft blankets, and her own little pillow once more.

* * * * *

“Come, darling, wake up and see the new frock I have got for you, and the nice ruffled apron. It’s Thanksgiving day, and all the cousins are coming to dinner,” said her mamma, with a soft kiss on the rosy cheek.

Betty started up, screaming,–

“Don’t kill me! Oh, please don’t! I’m not a truly pig, I’m a little girl; and if you’ll let me run home, I’ll never fret when I’m washed again.”

“What is the dear child afraid of?” said mamma, cuddling her close, and laughing to see Betty stare wildly about for the fat pigs and the stuffy sty.

She told her mother all about the queer time she had had, and was much surprised to hear mamma say,–

“It was all a dream, dear; you have been safely asleep in your little bed ever since you slapped poor Maria last night.”

“Well, I’m glad I dreamed it, for it has made me love to be clean. Come, Maria, soap and scrub as much as you like, I won’t kick and scream ever any more,” cried Betty, skipping about, glad to be safe in her pleasant home and no longer a dirty, lazy piggy girl.