'Well, I couldn't let it go for anything less than a Ribston pippin, or its value,' said the hedgehog. 'But I'm open to offers,' he continued.
'Toby,' said Tilsa, 'turn out your pockets.'
Tobene did so, and Tilsa examined the produce with a doubtful face.
'Please, sir,' she said, 'would you like for the Flamp compass, which you say is an old one, a piece of string, two marbles, some toffee—although I'm afraid it's rather mixed up with string—eight nuts, a screw, a peg-top, and a knife?'
'The knife will be useful,' said Toby, who was looking on a little ruefully, but convinced that Tilsa, as usual, was doing the right thing and therefore must be supported, 'in case any one tries to snub you.'
'Ah, you needn't trouble about that,' said the hedgehog. 'It's a difficult matter to snub me. You see,' he added, 'by the nature of his construction a hedgehog is not easily sat upon. But to business. Considering that the times are hard, I don't mind accepting your offer, miss.'
So saying, to Tilsa's immense delight, the hedgehog retired under the bush again, and came out carrying the Flamp compass. 'Is there anything else I can do for you?' he asked. 'Any periwinkle brooms or mallow cheeses this morning? We have a nice stock of thistle-clocks just in.'
'No, thank you,' Tilsa replied as they hurried off. 'Nothing more to-day. Good-morning.'
The compass was neatly contrived of the cup of an acorn, through the bottom of which ran a hedgehog's prickle. Balanced on the point was the needle, a spear of dried grass, and over all was a spider's web to serve as glass.