Little did Unk Wunk dream of the trick that was being plotted against him, as he sat there lazily gnawing at the root of the handiest tree.

To be sure he knew that Twinkly Eyes was there. He was not that stupid. Only he felt so thoroughly entrenched beneath his quills that he never even dreamed that the little Black Bear would dare to attack him.

Indeed, if worst came to worst, could he not remove himself with the same speed with which he had just rolled down hill? That had been pure accident. Curling up at the approach of some prowler of the night,—he had not troubled to find out who,—he had suddenly lost his balance, and gone hurtling down the slope in the manner that had so startled Twinkly Eyes. It just made one more trick in his bag! For his bones were fatly padded, and he simply found himself in another place as good as the one he had left.

So once more he began creaking contentedly in his nasal voice his never ending chorus “Unk Wunk, Unk Wunk, Unk Wunk!”

Life certainly looked good from the porcupine standpoint, now that the trees were full of sap, and the great round yellow moon shown softly through the budding branches, lighting up every cranny of the forest floor.

The hylas in the marsh below chirped as musically as distant sleigh bells, reminding one that grass was lush and green, and there would be no more cold and snow,—nothing but one grand feast, more months than he could look ahead.

Beyond that, all he had to do was to keep quills out, and none could interfere with his pleasure.

But underneath, on the side where there were no quills,—as Twinkly Eyes suspected,—the little porcupine was as soft and vul-ner-able as any of the forest folk,—and it was this very fact that Twinkly meant to make the most of.

He therefore opened his offensive by flipping a clod of earth at the armored one. That had no visible effect, so he flipped a second. The third one struck the porcupine square on his unprotected nose, and Unk Wunk gave a grunt of annoyance, and started to transfer his person to a more distant tree.

Swift as thought, the little Bear thrust a cautious paw clear beneath one of the quilled sides, and with one blow hurled Unk Wunk against the tree trunk.