It was a large black beetle with formidable jaws--a "pinchbug," he called it.
It was in a percussion-cap box.

The first thing the beetle did was to take him by the finger.

A natural fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurt finger went into the boy's mouth.

The beetle lay there working its helpless legs, unable to turn over.

Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his reach.