he had to fairly plough his way from the hollow log to the tree
where he took his meals. It was hard work, for his clumsy legs were not
made for wading, and at every step he had to lift and drag himself
forward, and then let his body drop while he shifted his feet. A
porcupine's feet will not go of themselves, the way other animals' do.
They have to be picked up one at a time and lifted forward as far as
they can reach--not very far at the best, for they are fastened to the
ends of very short legs. It almost seems as if he could run faster if he
could drop them off and leave them behind. One evening, when the snow
was beginning to freeze again after a thawing day, he lay down to rest
for a few minutes; and when he started on, some of his quills were fast
in the hardening crust and had to be left behind. But no matter how
difficult the walk might be, there was always a good square meal at the
end of it, and he pushed valiantly on till he reached his dinner-table.

Sometimes he stayed in the same tree for several days at a time,
quenching his thirst with snow, and sleeping in a crotch.

He was not by any means the only porcupine in the woods around the
Glimmerglass, although weeks sometimes passed without his seeing any of
his relations. At other times there were from one to half a dozen
porkies in the trees close by, and when they happened to feel like it
they would call back and forth to each other in queer, harsh, and often
querulous voices.

One afternoon, when he and another porcupine were occupying trees next
each other, two land-lookers came along and camped for the night between
them. Earlier in the day the men had crossed the trail of a pack of
wolves, and they talked of it as they cut their firewood, and, with all
the skill of the _voyageurs_ of old, cooked their scanty supper, and
made their bed of balsam boughs. The half-breed was much afraid that
they would have visitors before morning, but the white man only laughed
at the idea.

The meal was hardly finished when they lay down between their
blankets--the white man to sleep, and the half-breed to listen, listen,
listen for the coming of the wolves. Beyond the camp-fire's little
circle of ruddy light, vague shadows moved mysteriously, as if living
things were prowling about among the trees and only waiting for him to
fall asleep. Yet there was no wolf-howl to be heard, nor anything else
to break the silence of the winter night, save possibly the dropping o