He tried a bit of bark here
and there, only to spit it out again. Once he started up the hill; but
it was too steep for a lazy fellow with a full stomach. Again he tried
it; but it was not steep enough to roll down afterwards. Suddenly he
turned and came back to see who it was that followed him about.

I kept very quiet, and he brushed two or three times past my legs,
eyeing me sleepily. Then he took to nosing a beechnut from under my
foot, as if I were no more interesting than Alexander was to Diogenes.

I had never made friends with a porcupine,--he is too briery a fellow
for intimacies,--but now with a small stick I began to search him
gently, wondering if, under all that armor of spears and brambles, I
might not find a place where it would please him to be scratched. At the
first touch he rolled himself together, all his spears sticking straight
out on every side, like a huge chestnut bur. One could not touch him
anywhere without being pierced by a dozen barbs. Gradually, however, as
the stick touched him gently and searched out the itching spots under
his armor, he unrolled himself and put his nose under my foot again. He
did not want the beechnut; but he did want to nose it out. Unk Wunk is
like a pig. He has very few things to do besides eating; but when he
does start to go anywhere or do anything he always does it. Then I bent
down to touch him with my hand.

That was a mistake. He felt the difference in the touch instantly. Also
he smelled the salt in my hand, for a taste of which Unk Wunk will put
aside all his laziness and walk a mile, if need be. He tried to grasp
the hand, first with his paws, then with his mouth; but I had too much
fear of his great cutting teeth to let him succeed. Instead I touched
him behind the ears, feeling my way gingerly through the thick tangle of
spines, testing them cautiously to see how easily they would pull out.

The quills were very loosely set in, and every arrowheaded barb was as
sharp as a needle. Anything that pressed against them roughly would
surely be pierced; the spines would pull out of the skin, and work their
way rapidly into the unfortunate hand or paw or nose that touched them.
Each spine was like a South Sea Islander's sword, set for half its
length with shark's teeth. Once in the flesh it would work its own way,
unless pulled out with a firm hand spite of pain and terrible
laceration. No wonder Unk Wunk has no fear or anxiety when he rolls
himself into a ba