Potter hobbles so, especially going up the steps. When we finally get there, Peabody’s tongue is dragging on the ground, he is so thirsty.The woman with hair the color of a new silver dollar is standing at the sink, trying to open a canning jar.“Who in the world put this on so tight?” she says, looking up. Her eyes are bright, clear, and violet. They move from Mrs. Potter to me and finally to Peabody. “We weren’t expecting a dog.”“Now, Mrs. Swift,” says Mrs. Potter, limping over to help with the canning jar.“Oh, don’t Mrs. Swift me. A dog is a problem, and you know it. And a pig. What will we ever do with a pig?”“We’ll do fine,” says Mrs. Potter, twisting the ring and then, with a knife, popping the lid. “The pig is out in the shed, happy as a clam.” She sniffs at the inside of the jar, crinkles her nose, and sets the jar down. “It smells a little old.”There’s a pitcher of water on the table and I hurry to it and fill the saucer and put it on the floor for Peabody.
