MR. SPINES, THE HEDGEHOG 477 



the room, but his master he regarded as an inexhaustible supplier of endless meal- 

 worms. He occasionally went out-of-doors on his master's hand or head. So 

 long as mealworms excuse the repetition of the word, it is unavoidable in this 

 connection were obtainable, he never wanted to fly away. In fact, I never gave 

 him the chance. He would call to me when I came home from work " Joeee- 

 Joeee-Joeee," and would not be silenced until he got the inevitable larva of 

 Tenebris molitor (avoided it that time !). 



So the years passed in uncommonly happy companionship until one morning, 

 without any warning, I found him dead in his cage. It certainly wasn't old age ; 

 it wasn't fat. I couldn't account for it. Perhaps it was those m-lw-ms after all ! 



No. 4. MR. SPINES, THE HEDGEHOG. 



I wonder how Shakespeare knew that hedgehogs whine ? He certainly was 

 correct in saying so, when he puts into the mouth of one of his witches in Mac- 

 beth the words " Thrice and once the hedgepig whined." But I expect that only 

 a very few out of the thousands of people who have seen hedgehogs alive have 

 ever heard them utter a sound. The fact is that the few wild mammals which we 

 possess are almost ail of them nocturnal in their habits, and therefore very silent 

 creatures. But the hedgehogs which I have kept as pets have made themselves 

 audible when necessary, and have shown that they can not only whine, but also 

 utter a hoarser cry, more like a squeak than a whine ; whilst they could also emit 

 a much softer and lower note when they were happy and comfortable. I am 

 told that they squeal loudly when in pain, as for instance when caught in a trap ; 

 but I am glad to say I have never heard one under such circumstances. 



They make rather interesting pets, and have a droll dignity which is all then- 

 own. They can travel at a much faster pace than would be supposed ; but their 

 habit of seeking protection, not in flight but in rolling themselves up into a ball, 

 and playing " possum," lends colour to the impression that they are but slow 

 walkers. 



Spines, my hedgehog friend of whom I write, took a long time to uncurl 

 himself, and a still longer time to set off on his travels round my room ; but when 

 he was thoroughly at ease he certainly " trotted." 



What is more, he could climb. I kept him first in a large open box, with sides 

 at least two feet high ; but he was outside the box the next morning, and asleep 

 under my bookcase in a dark corner. I put him back, and later on in his career 

 I saw him climb out. He stood up on his hind-legs at the corner, and, with a little 

 jerk, clung to the roughnesses of the wood. He slipped back two or three times 

 before he managed to get a front paw on the top edge ; but once there, he was 

 quickly over. 



Spines came to me one springtime, when the boys of the village were con- 

 stantly bringing me things to photograph. He came in a fish basket, and I promised 

 to take his picture. The boy left him, basket and all, on my study table, and I 

 went out of the room to get my camera and plates. I did not want to keep the 

 creature, and thought it best to fulfil my promise as soon as possible, and turn the 

 hedgehog loose. However, I was longer about my task than I expected, and 

 when I returned to the room the basket was on the floor, and Spines was 

 seated on the hearthrug in front of the fire, perfectly at his ease, and enjoying 



