The Sad Little Hedgehog
by John Steele
Little Ben was feeling very, very sad.
"What kind of hedgehog am I," he asked, "when I haven't a single prick, or single spike on my back?"
And it was true. His back was very soft, very spikeless, and very un-hedgehoggy.
So Little Ben moped, and moped, and moped. First on his sofa. Then on his hearthrug. And finally, on his bed. But still he was very sad.
So he sat himself down to have a think. He sat, and sat, and sat, and thought, and thought, and thought. And outside the sun floated featherlike down to the horizon, and the moon got up.
Then suddenly, Little Ben had an idea!
"I know," he said. "I'll go out this very night and collect loads, and loads of holly leaves, twigs, and sticks. And then I'll sort out the most prickly and spikey of them, and glue them on my back!"
Well, he was so pleased with the idea, he began to skip and dance from one end of his house to the other. he skipped over his thick warm coat, for it was very cold outside. Then he danced over to his tore cupboard, where he kept a candle-lantern, and a spare washing-line.
"That should come in useful for tying the sticks into a bundle," he thought.
And so armed, he stepped out of his house into the dark, cold night.
|
Little Ben hated the woods at night. All the trees seemed to turn into monsters. And ghosts sang to each other in their tops. It was very scary. But still he trudged on. Soon he found somewhere to rest his lantern, and began to search for sticks. They weren't very difficult to find. And soon he had a huge pile of holly leaves, twigs and sticks -- twice his own height! Plus a whole branch from a hawnthorne tree! So he tied them all into a bundle, collected his lantern, and tried to drag them home. |
 The trees seemed
|
But they wouldn't budge. So he heaved, and heaved some more. Then suddenly the whole pile jerked forward and Little Ben lost his balance and fell flat upon his face.
But, even worse, his candle-lantern dropped from his hands, rolled over and over and over the ground, and went out!
Suddenly, it was very dark. And Little Ben was very scared.
A hooting sound came from far above him. A loud screech followed, then a terrible flapping of wings.
"Demons!" thought Little Ben. "Ghosts!"
And then he heard something worse still: a rustling sound in the undergrowth. And it was coming toward him.
Well, he was so terrified, he rushed blindly backwards, to where he imagined his pile of sticks was, and hid himself behind it.
After a few moments, he poked his head out from his hiding place, and strained to see through the darkness.
For a moment he couldn't see anything. Then a small, bent figure appeared out of the thick bushes, holding aloft a lantern.
Caption: "It was an hedgehog!"
It was an hedgehog!
"Hello." said the hedgehog, catching sight of Little Ben. "What are you doing down there?"
"I thought you were a monster." said Little Ben.
"Bless me, no." said the hedgehog. Then for the first time he seemed to notice the huge pile of sticks Little Ben had bundled together.
"What are you doing with all those sticks?" he asked. "Going to build a bonfire?"
"Why no." said Little Ben. And he explained to the hedgehog his problem -- he had no spikes! -- and he showed him his back to prove it.
Much to Little Ben's surprise, the hedgehog laughed, and laughed, and laughed. In fact, he curled up into such a tight ball, and rocked back and forwards so much, Little Ben thought he was going to burst!
"I'm sorry, little fellow," he said, at last brushing a final tear of laughter from his eyes. "But it's plain to me that you're not an hedgehog, you're a guinea pig, don't you see?"
"A guinea pig?" said Little Ben, trying to get to grips with the idea.
"A guinea pig." repeated the hedgehog. "And if I'm to judge, a very handsome, very fine guinea pig too."
Copyright The Bentilean 1999
"The Bentilean" would like to thank the Leisure & Recreation Dept., Hanley Park, Stoke-on-Trent, for their permission to use the hedgehog picture shown above. I have to take full blame for the tree drawing though :-(
Back to: The Contents Page | The Archive | The Bentilean Main Page