"Rather a pretty animal, Tom, about eighteen inches in length, with a
fine bushy tail as long as its body. Its fur is dark, with a white
stripe down each side. It can be easily tamed, and would serve very well
as a cat in a house, were it not for the disgusting way in which it
shows its anger. The fluid it squirts from under its tail will scent the
whole country round. Even dogs can't bear it."

"I feel quite uncomfortable now from the smell of George's clothes,"
said Annie.

"The worst of it too, is, that you can't get rid of it; no washing will
take it away."

And so it proved; for notwithstanding repeated washing and airings, that
suit of George's was so offensive that he could no longer wear it; and
as everything placed near it was infected, it was at last burnt.

Tom stopped up every cranny of the hen-house which looked in the least
dangerous, with such neatness and skill that his father and uncle were
quite pleased.

Annie and George were watching him finish his job, when Uncle John came
up with what looked like a large, green grasshopper, which he had caught
on a sycamore.

"Here, Annie," cried he, "is one of the fellows that make such a
grating, knife-grinding sort of noise every night."

"I thought you said the little tree-toads made it, uncle."