“Dear me! dear me!” said Curlywig; “what wicked things these men are. I remember now when the master of the house bought me, he said: ‘Lean little beggar this, but he’ll soon fatten up at our house for we are full of black beetles,’ What wretches they are! What shall I do?”
“As far as I can learn,” continued Butterwops, “it is done like this. You take a young hedge-hog, the fatter the better, first remove the prickles and skin quickly——”
“Do be quiet,” groaned Curlywig, rolling himself up into a ball. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”
“That is to say,” said Butterwops, “that is how it is done if they decide on tart. If it’s to be curry you won’t be skinned, only then you will catch it hotter in the saucepan.”
“Shut up!” shouted Curlywig, running round the kitchen table in despair. “Oh my poor prickles! What shall I do?”
“Well, if I were you,” continued the General, calmly, “I do not think I should stay on, but do not go on my account. You might squeeze under the scullery door if you wanted to, or you may stay and be eaten and I have no doubt you will look as handsome in a tart as you do out of it. But after all, handsome is as handsome does, and the real question is what will you taste like. Now you will never know, but I shall hear all about it. Yes,” chuckled Buttercups, “I shall hear all about it.”
Curlywig was now galloping round the room mad with terror, shouting out: “Oh, my poor prickles! Oh, my poor prickles!”
Butterwops continued slowly as though he was addressing a dear friend. “I am really very sorry for you, but don’t worry so much. They are going to put some steak and kidney in the pie, so you will have company; and I dare say being baked is not bad, though I fear you won’t like the skinning, especially this chilly weather. But it will soon be over, and once inside the oven you will be warm again in a jiffy.”
Curlywig did not hear all this. He had heard enough. The foolish fellow believed every word Butterwops said to him, and when he came to the word skinning, Curlywig uttered a wild shriek and away he fled underneath the scullery door, across the garden, out into the fields beyond the church, where he hid in a dry ditch for three days, and dared not move out for fear the people of the house were hunting him.
Then the beetles had peace and grew up with the children who came to stay at that house, and cleaned up the floors, and kept out of sight as much as might be. Even little Jimmy grew wiser and gave up frightening the mistress. No one ever heard of Curlywig any more. And everyone in that house, from the master of it down to little Jimmy, lived happily ever afterwards.