lily-pads again.

As far as his future prospects were concerned, he had little reason for
worrying. He knew pretty well how to take care of himself, for that is a
kind of knowledge which comes early to young porcupines. Really, there
wasn't much to learn. His quills would protect him from most of his
enemies, if not from all of them; and, what was still better, he need
never suffer from a scarcity of food. Of all the animals in the woods
the porcupine is probably the safest from starvation, for he can eat
anything from the soft green leaves of the water-plants to the bark and
the small twigs of the tallest hemlock. Summer and winter, his
storehouse is always full. The young lions may lack, and suffer hunger,
and seek their meat from God; but the young porky has only to climb a
tree and set his teeth at work. All the woods are his huckleberry.

And, by the way, our Porcupine's teeth were a great institution,
especially the front ones, and were well worthy of a somewhat detailed
description. They were long and sharp and yellow, and there were two in
the upper jaw and two in the lower, with a wide gap on each side between
them and the molars. They kept right on growing as long as he lived, and
there is no telling how far they would have gone if there had been
nothing to stop them. Fortunately, he did a great deal of eating and
chewing, and the constant friction kept them worn down, and at the same
time served to sharpen them. Like a beaver's, they were formed of thin
shells of hard enamel in front, backed up by softer pulp behind; and of
course the soft parts wore away first, and left the enamel projecting in
sharp, chisel-like edges that could gnaw crumbs from a hickory
axe-handle.

The next few months were pleasant ones, with plenty to eat, and nothing
to do but keep his jaws going. By and by the leaves began to fall, and
whenever the Porky walked abroad they rustled around him like silk
skirts going down the aisle of a church. A little later the beechnuts
came down from the sky, and he feasted more luxuriously than ever. His
four yellow chisels tore the brown shells open, his molars ground the
sweet kernels into meal, and he ate and ate till his short legs could
hardly keep his fat little belly off the ground.

Then came the first light snow, and his feet left tracks which bore a
faint resemblance to a baby's--that is, if your imagination was
sufficiently vigorous. The snow grew deeper and deeper, and after a
while