He might well have called it off with Unk Wunk’s prob-able amaze-ment. But the little porcupine, though somewhat bruised, was still so set in his self-esteem that he could not imagine its happening a second time. And, feeling the need of an im-me-di-ate stim-u-lant, he once more uncurled from the ball he had doubled himself into in mid-air, and resumed his gnawing. Imagine Twinkly Eyes’ astonishment, as he turned, his shoulder all but dislocated from the force of the thrust, to find the enemy still in-dif-fer-ent to his presence! Hot-headed now with the thrill of battle, he padded across to Unk Wunk, who happened quite by chance to be nearly en-trenched between his tree and a hollow log. Then, being nothing but a yearling cub, he quite forgot the caution with which he had once seen Mother Black Bear manage the ma-nœuv-re. Whereupon he flipped his clod again, hoping to drive the porcupine from behind his log, and with a neat success, for the clod landed plop on the pacifist’s nose again! With a squeak of righteous indignation, the quilled one thrust his unprotected face into the hollow log, and there he waited! Even now he felt no fear, only a desire to punish, to fight for peace. And Twinkly Eyes—rash fellow—lumbered closer, and once more thrust his paw beneath the porcupine. But this time he allowed himself to come too close. Quick as lightning, slap, slap! Unk Wunk snapped his barbed tail back and forth, and Twinkly gave a howl of pain. A handful of the torturing quills had im-paled the tormentor’s scalp! But for one chance this would have been the finish of the little Black Bear. It so happened that his head was down, and the quills struck directly over the hard bone of the skull. Into this they could not pen-e-trate. He was simply a bear with a mighty sore head. It was sore for long afterward, though with his good blood and the life of the open, it did finally heal, leaving him just a little scarred and more than a little chastened. Henceforth Unk Wunk would be given a wide berth by one more of his neighbors. [Illustration: [Bear]] XLV BOBBY LYNX GOES FISHING Now Twinkly’s neighbor Bobby was a sadder but a wiser young lynx kitten before ever Whoo Lee the owl had finished with him. For Bobby had climbed to the nest in the pine tree, rash fellow! It but put the finishing touches on his lesson when the bark to which he was clinging with his one free paw gave way beneath his weight and sent him tumbling. Not that Bobby minded, after the first shock of falling. Like all members of the cat family, large and small, he managed to double into a somersault in mid-air and so came down right side up, more hurt in his feelings than anywhere else. Indeed, he twice broke his fall by catching at passing limbs, and he need not have come to the ground at all, save that he preferred not to occupy the same tree as Whoo Lee.