ater. When they attempted to scramble back she pushed them off again,
and dropped in beside them and led them to a log farther down the shore,
where there were more lily pads.

The numerous hollow quills floated them high in the water, like so many
corks, and they paddled off with less effort than any other young
animals that I have ever seen in the water. But whether this were a
swimming lesson, or a rude direction to shift and browse for themselves,
is still a question. With the exception of one solitary old genius, who
had an astonishing way of amusing himself and scaring all the other wood
folk, this was the only plain bit of fore-thought and sweet
reasonableness that I have ever found in a porcupine.

[Illustration]

A LAZY FELLOW'S FUN

[Illustration]

A new sound, a purring rustle of leaves, stopped me instantly as I
climbed the beech ridge, one late afternoon, to see what wood folk I
might surprise feeding on the rich mast. _Pr-r-r-r-ush, pr-r-r-r-ush!_ a
curious combination of the rustling of squirrels' feet and the soft,
crackling purr of an eagle's wings, growing nearer, clearer every
instant. I slipped quietly behind the nearest tree to watch and listen.

Something was coming down the hill; but what? It was not an animal
running. No animal that I knew, unless he had gone suddenly crazy, would
ever make such a racket to tell everybody where he was. It was not
squirrels playing, nor grouse scratching among the new-fallen leaves.
Their alternate rustlings and silences are unmistakable. It was not a
bear shaking down the ripe beechnuts--not heavy enough for that, yet too
heavy for the feet of any prowler of the woods to make on his stealthy
hunting. _Pr-r-r-r-ush, swish! thump!_ Something struck the stem of a
bush heavily and brought down a rustling shower of leaves; then out from
under the low branches rolled something that I had never seen before,--a
heavy, grayish ball, as big as a half-bushel basket, so covered over
with leaves that one could not tell what was inside. It was as if some
one had covered a big kettle with glue and sent it rolling down the
hill, picking up dead leaves as it went. So the queer thing tumbled past
my feet, purring, crackling, growing bigger and more ragged every moment
as it gathered up more leaves, till it reached the bottom of a sharp
pitch and lay still.

I stole after it cautiously. Suddenly it moved, unrolled itself. Then
out of the ragged mass came a big porcu