A snarl of rage from "Peeshoo" told Phil that she had overheard. "She always snarls when I move out of her reach, though she dare not touch me," said the Urson, making himself into a bristling ball of defiance as he heard the sound. "I do that to remind her what she would have to face," he explained to Phil. "There's nothing like letting one's enemies see that one is ready for them. 'Don't attack, but always be ready to defend yourself; this is my motto, and a good one it is." They were out of the wood soon and in the valley. The entrance that led to the Urson's den was so narrow that he had to make his quills lie very flat in order to creep through, but Phil, as it always happened, was just the right size. He was speedily introduced to Mrs. Urson and to "my small son." The baby Porcupine was in reality anything but "small"; Phil found out afterwards that of all wild things he was the largest in proportion to the size of his parents. A big furry bundle of silky brown, his quills not yet having pushed their way through his thick hair, Phil thought him very comfortable to nurse, and Mrs. Urson was as pleased with his admiration of her offspring as the Lady Ondatra had been. His father, however, was inclined to be testy. "He's just an ordinary young Porcupine," he said; "no more, no less. Don't put nonsense into his head, please--his mother is ready enough to do that." Feeling rather uncomfortable on her account, Phil turned to Mrs. Porcupine, who did not seem in the least disturbed by her lord's reproaches. "He wants a little change of air, poor dear," she said to Phil in a confidential whisper. "I expect he'll be leaving me soon--I know the signs." The Urson caught her whisper, and his sharp little face grew sad. "We've been very good friends," he said, looking round at her wistfully, "and it's a nice child; but there's something beyond these woods which is calling--calling. I don't think that I can stay much longer." His mate moved close to him and touched his, nose with hers. "You'll come back when the summer is over," she said, "and you will find us here." "Shall I?" returned the Urson, doubtfully, more to himself than her. They had forgotten Phil, who was rather in the way. He was glad when the Mother Porcupine came back to the present, and asked him to try some fine spruce bark. "I wish I could give you buckwheat," she remarked, "for it might be more to your taste. You're not hungry? That's very strange. We always are--when we're awake!" She finished her sentence with a wide yawn, and Phil took this as a hint that she wanted to go to sleep--which was indeed the case. He refused her kind offer of a bed for the day, and the Urson then insisted upon showing him a short cut through the wood. On the way he grew quite talkative.