Foam—A Razor-Backed Hog 
hosts of things to eat in the Maytime woods. 
Every little early flower has a bulbous-root that is a 
store of food. Every berry that follows the flower 
is food. And when it so falls out that these be 
poisonous, and such there be, the good All-mother 
has put in it a nasty little smell, a funny tang, ora 
prickle that sounds a warning to the wood-wise pig 
and makes it unpleasant to the ever-moving finger- 
tipped inquiring noses of the rollicking grunting 
piggy band. These were the things the mother 
knew. These were the things the young ones 
learned by watching and smelling. One of them, a 
lively youngster in reddish hair, found a new sen- 
sation. They were not eating yet, but the mother 
was rooting and eating all day, and the youngsters 
rushed to smell each new place that she upheaved. 
Grubs she welcomed as a superior kind of roots, 
and the children sniffed approval. Then a queer, 
broad, yellow-banded, humming, flying thing 
dropped down on a leaf near Redhead’s nose. He 
eo poked it with his nose finger-tip. And then it 
fi 7 did—it did—something he could not understand, 
but oh, how it hurt! He gave a little “Wowk” 
and ran to his mother. His tiny bristles stood up 
and he chopped his little foxlike jaws till they 
foamed, and the white froth flecked his cheeks. It 
was a sun and night before little Foamy Chops had 
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