“Ah, Mrs. Polecat,” said Mr. Porcupine, not knowing the injury he had done—some people never know the injury they do—“You possess a weapon and wield it so effectively that it is much more cruel and painful than is my poor quill. Mine is a sword stab, but there are torments and sufferings greater than sword stabs.” As he said this, Mr. Porcupine thought it an uncommonly fine speech with an obvious meaning. Mrs. Polecat was placated. Her anger was turned to pleasure. She, too, thought it an uncommonly fine speech, and fancied that it meant that her beauty was such as to inspire love and destroy the heart and peace of mind of those who saw her. There are people in this world who are always ready to take a veiled censure of a fault which they possess as a compliment to an assumed virtue which they do not possess. Mrs. Porcupine frowned and scowled. She knew what Mr. Porcupine meant, but she frowned and scowled because Mrs. Polecat had misunderstood it and had taken it as a compliment. Mrs. Turtle, who had been waiting for a chance to speak, said she didn’t see how any one could go about without reasonable protection. For her part, she was not afraid of Mr. Porcupine’s quills, and she invited him to come as close to her as he desired. Mrs. Porcupine frowned and scowled again, and no doubt a pitched battle would have ensued, had not Mr. Rattlesnake sounded an alarm, and slipped away under a huge rock. Just then two hunters, with their dogs, rode up, and—bang! bang!—Mr. Porcupine and Mrs. Muskrat fell over dead. The younger hunter took out after Mr. Polecat and Mrs. Polecat, but he was warned back by the elder, who said that, like some people, the Polecats had methods of assault against which there is no defense excepting distance, and that the part of wisdom is to keep well away from them. Mr. Turtle and Mrs. Turtle, in spite of their strong armor, were captured and hung by whang leather thongs to the horns of the hunters’ saddles. Their heads were battered, but of course they did not die until put in the soup-pot the next day. Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Hawk flew away and the rest of the animals escaped with more or less injury, one way and another, with the exception of Mr. Weasel, who was killed and his skin converted into a purse. [Illustration: Mrs. Rabbit put on a great many airs. ] It was many and many a long day before Everybody who is Nobody met again to criticise their neighbors. It sometimes requires a great catastrophe to teach a valuable lesson; but, once learned, this lesson is not soon forgotten. MRS. RABBIT’S DINING.