Perhaps it should be mentioned that although Fiddleheads are quite easily bruised, their hides are tough. They cannot be cut unless they have been thoroughly cooked. So, despite all the curved saws, needles and many hours of prodding Francis in various crevices, the teacher could neither find eyes nor mouth nor nose. The teacher then pulled out his fantastic tweezers. The fantastic tweezers worked like a charm and the teacher pinched Francis quite cruelly for it excited him in the worst possible way.
And all the while, he kept on muttering to Francis,"You should be ashamed of yourself. You are different. And that's never a good thing. You are an anomaly.."
"I'm not unique. I'm evolved."
School, he found, was fabulously dull.
By the end, Francis looked like a very ripe damson plum or a calf liver patted dry and the teacher, thoroughly aroused, could not resist: on the pretense of driving Francis home, he sped up then booted Francis out of his car. The next day he taught with zest, vigor, and a fine attention to detail, all the while playing in his head the details of the fiddlehead rolling head over heels and disappearing into the fenny ditch.