He was a native of the Mohawk Valley near Schenectady, New York, and
when about twenty years old, with his young wife, Polly, emigrated to
the wilds of Western Pennsylvania. This was more than seventy years ago,
when the magnificent forests of that region afforded some of the finest
hunting-grounds in America. Here Jacob began clearing a farm, built a
log dwelling-house, planted corn and potatoes, and in a few years became
a thriving pioneer.
But the pride of his forest farm was his pigs. He had built a strong pen
of logs, with a heavy door, in order to protect them in the night from
wild animals. It stood about five rods from the house, near the brook,
just across which, and not thirty feet from the sty, was the edge of the
dense natural forest.
During the day they were permitted to roam at large in the woods eating
nuts, by which they fattened for the larder; but when night approached,
they were called and zealously secured in the pen, a practice which soon
taught the pigs the habit of early retiring. Gradually, however, Mr.
Lohr's punctuality in this matter abated, until one evening it had
become fairly dark ere he went to shut them in. As he walked down the
beaten path, a rustling in the adjacent bushes made him think that the
pigs might still be out; and to satisfy himself on the point, he entered
the pen and felt around, saying as he did so, "One two, three--all
here." Then as he turned to the door, he wondered what caused the
rustling across the brook.
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