“No,” said Bart, “nor a moose, either.”
“What wor it, thin?” cried Pat. “Niver did I behowld anythin like it. It had fower legs, so it had; an it had long spikes all over its back. Was it any kind of a rabbit, thin?”
“It was a porcupine,” said Arthur. “Haven’t you ever seen any of them?”
“Pooh!” said Bart. “Pat, look here. I’ll tell you really what it was. It was the real, identical, original, bona fide ghost, that howls and knocks in the Academy garret. You ought to have known it at once. I did, the moment I saw it.”
“Ah, blatheration take ye, wid yer ghosts, an yer howls,” said Pat, peevishly. “An what wor that ye said?” he asked, turning to Arthur. “What wor the name av the little baste that ye mintioned jest now, thin?”
“A porcupine,” said Arthur.
“Porkypine!” said Pat. “Porky pine! Well, it wor a strange baste intirely. I thried hard to get him. It ud have been a swate baste fur the Musayum, so it wud. But I cudn’t get a howld av him, bad luck to him!”
“It’s lucky for you, Pat,” said Bart, “that you didn’t get hold of him. He’s got spikes enough about his back to stick you through and through, if you put your hand on him. You’ve got off very easily, Pat. You ought to say good luck to him.”
“Sure an it’s mesilf that niver, niver saw the aqual av that baste, so I didn’t. I hit him mesilf wid me powl a dozen cracks—yes, a hundhred; but niver a bit did he budge for all that same. He didn’t let out ayven a squake, so he didn’t. An me a chasin av him over the wuds! But I cudn’t get nair him.”
“O, well, Pat, it’s all right,” said Bruce. “You ought to be glad you didn’t get near him. You’d have been laid up for a couple of months if you had. If you don’t understand porcupines, you’d better steer clear of them. They’re not very pleasant beasts to handle. I know that. But come, boys. It’s getting darker and darker. We mustn’t stand dawdling here all night. Hurry up, and come along.”