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Updated: June 1, 2025
And the more favorable I talked about it, the more horrow-struck and skairt Josiah Allen looked. And finally he got behind the agent, and winked at me, and made motions for me to foller him into the buttery. He wunk several times before I paid much attention to 'em; but finally, the winks grew so violent, and the motions so imperious, yet clever, that I got up, and follered him into the buttery.
It is probably this power of driving his barbs home by a lightning blow of his tail that has given rise to the curious delusion that Unk Wunk can shoot his quills at a distance, as if he were filled with compressed air which is, of course, a harmless absurdity that keeps people from meddling with him too closely. Sometimes, when attacked, Unk Wunk covers his face with this weapon.
Then I drove him in the opposite direction, whereupon he turned and bolted past me; and when I arrived at camp he was busily engaged in gnawing the end from Simmo's ax handle. However you take him, Unk Wunk is one of the mysteries. He is a perpetual question scrawled across the forest floor, which nobody pretends to answer; a problem that grows only more puzzling as you study to solve it.
If so, Unk Wunk has more in his sleepy, stupid head than we have given him credit for, and there is a very interesting lesson awaiting him who shall first find and enter the porcupine school. The Partridges' Roll Call
I pulled the two quills with sharp jerks out of my hand, pushed all the others through my coat sleeve, and turned to Unk Wunk again, sucking my wounded hand, which pained me intensely. "All your own fault," I kept telling myself, to keep from whacking him across the nose, his one vulnerable point, with my stick. Unk Wunk, on his part, seemed to have forgotten the incident.
Once in the flesh it would work its own way, unless pulled out with a firm hand spite of pain and terrible laceration. No wonder Unk Wunk has no fear or anxiety when he rolls himself into a ball, protected at every point by such terrible weapons. The hand moved very cautiously as it went down his side, within reach of Unk Wunk's one swift weapon.
Unk Wunk was out for fun that afternoon, and had rolled down the hill for the joy of the swift motion and the dizzy feeling afterwards, as other wood folk do.
"Brer Rabbit wunk at hisse'f. He 'low, 'Heyo, house! why n't you talk hoarse like you got a bad col'? "Den Brer Wolf holler back, hoarse ez he kin, 'Heyo, yo'se'f! "Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh twel a little mo' en he'd a drapt off'n dat ar 'simmon stump en hurt hisse'f. "He 'low, 'Eh-eh, Brer Wolf! dat ain't nigh gwine ter do.
But who taught Unk Wunk to roll downhill and stick his spines full of dry leaves to scare the wood folk? And when did he learn to use the tree-tops for his swing and the wind for his motive power? Perhaps since most of what the wood folk know is a matter of learning, not of instinct his mother teaches him some things that we have never yet seen.
Miss Meechim wuz nigh by and I see she had gone almost into spazzums of admiration over it, and on our family's account, didn't want to fall too low down in her estimation, so I wunk at him and whispered, "Josiah, that is the celebrated Sikey; it is the proper thing to fall into extacies of admiration and wonder when you see it."
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