The other Outlaws supported William's view. Riding, they considered, implied motion.
" All right," said Ginger, accepting the challenge"; " one of you show her some sawdust an' if she'll get up an' go to it with William on her back then that'll be ridin' all right."
This was agreed to, and Henry went out to the carpenter's shop down the road to borrow some sawdust. Fortunately the carpenter, unlike the rest of the adult population of the village, was a friend of the Outlaws, and allowed them to watch him at work and to carry off his sawdust for their own purpose. (William had lately carried on extensive experiments with a view to making wood out of sawdust and glue).
Henry returned with a good supply of sawdust, opened the sty door and held out a handful enticingly. The Outlaws had by now completely forgotten everything but the burning question of whether you could ride on Eglantine or whether you couldn't.
" Come on," said Henry, " come on. Puss ! Puss ! Puss ! Pig ! Pig ! Pig ! "
Eglantine looked up. She saw sawdust. She smelt sawdust. Her small eyes gleamed. Lumberingly she arose and, disregarding William's weight on her back (perhaps hardly noticing it, for it was a mere feather compared with her own), ambled across to the door where Henry stood with his handful of sawdust. There she ate the delicious morsel greedily. Ginger cheered.
" Well, that's ridin' all right," he said. " I guess you can't call that not ridin' ! "
" I bet you couldn't get her to run," said William; " see if you could get her to run."
" I bet I could," said Henry and Ginger simultaneously. Henry held out another handful of sawdust and began to retreat before the slowJy-advancing bulk of Eglantine. Eglantine's appetite was whetted by that one luscious mouthful. She literally adored sawdust.