PRICKER, THE HEDGEHOG.
Shortly after poor Jacky's death, Papa called us into the garden.
"Children!" he said, "Here is something for you in my handkerchief. Guess what it is; but don't touch."
The handkerchief looked as if something very heavy was in it; and we guessed all sorts of things, but in vain.
At last Papa let us feel, and my sister grasped it rather roughly; but withdrew her hand quickly, with five or six sharp pricks.
"Oh! it is a nasty hedgehog," cried she; "look how my fingers are bleeding!"
"Not a nasty hedgehog," I said, "but a curious nice creature; where did you get it, Papa?"
"It was given to me this morning for you," he replied; "It will live in the garden; and you must sometimes give it a little milk, and it will do very well; and perhaps become quite tame."
The little creature, when placed on the grass, did not curl itself up and appear affrighted, but looked about him, and ran quickly to and fro. We brought some milk out in a saucer, but he could not manage to get his nose over the side; so we made a little pond of the milk on the grass, and he dipped his black snout into it, and then sucked it up greedily.
This hedgehog soon became very tame; when we took him up in our hands, he did not curl up in afright, but let us look at his feet, and touch and pat his curious little pig's face. He helped himself to what he liked best in the garden; and we never found that he rooted up anything, or did the slightest damage; he liked the milk which we gave him daily; and when we were playing on the grass, he used to run about us, as if he liked our company.
We had been told that we should never be able to keep a hedgehog; that they always climbed over the walls, and escaped to the fields and hedges.
But although we did not in any way confine Pricker, he never attempted to leave us, being apparently quite content with his run of the kitchen garden, flower garden and house; for we sometimes carried him into the kitchen, and up stairs into the nursery, where he would roll himself up into some snug corner, and remain apparently asleep for an hour or more.
When we had had Pricker for some weeks, we received a present of a second hedgehog. He was larger, but never became so tame as our first friend; he did not like to be taken up in our hands, and we never could obtain a good look at his black face and legs, as he rolled up on the slightest touch; and when Pricker was running about on the grass, his shy companion used to remain hidden beneath the leaves and plants.
We had, at this time, a very favourite dog; and at the first coming of the hedgehogs, we were in some fear that Tawney would kill them, for he was a most eager hunter of rats, weasels, rabbits, cats; in short, of anything that would run from him.
But every one assured us that a dog would not kill a hedgehog, on account of his sharp prickles; and the first time that we showed Pricker to Tawney, he made a sort of dart at him, and received, of course, a violent prick on the nose; at this he retreated, barking and licking his lips, and dancing round poor Pricker, with every desire to attack again; but hoping to find a spot unprotected by the formidable spikes.
Pricker, however, having tightly rolled himself up, such a spot was not to be found; and, after a great deal of noise and excitement, Tawney retired, and we never observed him to venture again.
When Pricker was running on the grass, or when we were feeding him with milk, Tawney used to play about without condescending to take the slightest notice of the little animal; in short, he pretended not to see him. So that we felt quite easy about the safety of Pricker and his comrade.
What it was that induced Tawney not only to see Pricker, but to attack him again, we do not know, as nobody was witness of the catastrophe.
On going into the garden one brilliant morning, Tawney made his appearance in a very excited state, bounding about our feet with a short delighted bark, that was not usually his morning salutation; and on looking more closely at him, we saw that his nose was bleeding; indeed, his whole head and ears were much ruffled and marked.
We did not at first think of Pricker; but on wiping Tawney's face with a wet towel, we found that he was bleeding from many wounds.
"The hedgehog!" we exclaimed, "He must have killed poor Pricker."
So we commenced a grand hunt through the garden, looking under all the cabbage-plants, and in all the usual haunts.
Behind the cucumber frame we found our hedgehog; but as he curled up the moment we looked at him, we knew that it was not Pricker; and on further search we discovered the mangled remains of the poor animal, whose natural armour had not been sufficient to protect him from so brave and plucky a little dog as our Tawney, who must really have suffered greatly from the deep thrusts into his face and head before he could have inflicted a mortal bite.
Now, we thought, what shall we do with the other; as, doubtless, Tawney, would not allow him to live, having found himself the conqueror in the present instance.
Papa said that a gentlemen, one of our neighbours, had been telling him that his kitchen was infested with black beetles; and that he had tried beetle-traps, and all sorts of methods of getting rid of them in vain. Papa had told him that the surest way was to keep a hedgehog in the kitchen, as they devour black-beetles greedily.
"Now," said Papa, "as you cannot keep the little creature in safety here, you had better make a present of it to Mr. D——; and I advise you to carry it to him at once."
Accordingly, we took the hedgehog to our neighbour, and it was duly installed in the kitchen.
In a day or two, we went to enquire whether the beetles were decreasing.
Alas! the poor hedgehog had fallen a victim to his own greediness; for, having eaten too many beetles, he was found dead amidst a heap of the slain.