LITMIR.BIZ

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amiable soul, quite indifferent to such delicacies as young otters. Another thing they did not know was that if the fishhawk had wanted them, he could have caught them more comfortably in the water than on shore.

      "When the great bird was well out of sight they started off down stream, partly to have another look for their lost parents, partly because they had nothing better to do. But they did not go very far that day, or have any more very exciting adventures. They spent most of their time in the water, where they had no foe to watch out for except the mink. And, as the fish had now learned to beware of them, they had enough to do in satisfying their lively appetites. That night they slept in the den, lying close to the water's edge, lest the fox should come. And they had no visitors.

      "The next day they were feeling more confident, more sure of themselves. So they set out on a longer expedition. In the course of the morning they killed a big muskrat, after a sharp fight, and felt terribly proud of themselves. They got bitten, of course, and had their fur all mussed up, so it meant a long, elaborate toilet in the warm grass by the water's edge. And it was not till early in the afternoon that they came once more to the fateful slide where their parents had so mysteriously vanished.

      "At the sight of it, as they came upon it suddenly around a bend of the stream, their fur bristled and they crouched flat, glancing angrily this way and that. Then they stole forward, and once more explored the whole place minutely. At last, finding nothing to alarm them, in an absent-minded way one of the two went down the slide, splash into the cool brown water. The other followed at once. The temptation was simply not to be resisted, you know. And in a minute more they were both hard at it, having the time of their lives—hawks, foxes, minks, and vanished parents alike forgotten."

      "Oh!" protested the Babe in a shocked voice.

      "You may say 'Oh!'" retorted Uncle Andy, "but let me tell you, if the wild creatures hadn't pretty short memories, they would have a very unhappy time.

      "Well, they had been enjoying themselves and forgetting their troubles for some little time, when, just as it came down the slide, one of them was grabbed and pulled under. The mink had arrived and decided to settle accounts with the youngsters. He had probably been thinking it over, and come to the conclusion that they were getting too bumptious. Darting up through the water, he had snapped savagely at the careless player's throat.

      "But the latter—it was the female, and spry, I can tell you—had felt that darting terror even before she had time to see it, and twisted aside like an eel. So instead of catching her by the throat, as he had so amiably intended, the mink only got her leg, up close by the shoulder. It was a deep and merciless grip; but instead of squealing—which she could not have done anyhow, being already under water—the Little Furry One just sank her sharp white teeth into the back of her enemy's neck, and held on for dear life. It was exactly the right thing to do, though she did not know it. For she had got her grip so high up on the mink's neck that he could not twist his head around far enough to catch her by the throat. Deep down at the bottom of the pool the two rolled over and over each other; and the mink was most annoyed to find how strong the youngster was, and how set in her ways. Moreover, he had been under water longer than she had, and was beginning to feel he'd like a breath of fresh air. He gave a kick with his powerful hind legs, and, as the Little Furry One had no objection, up they came.

      "Now, the other youngster had not been able, just at first, to make out what was happening. He thought his sister had gone down to the bottom for fun. But when he saw her coming up, locked in that deadly struggle with their old enemy, his heart swelled with fury. He sprang clear out into the deep water when the struggling pair reached the surface, lashing and splashing, and the mink had only bare time to snatch a single breath of air before he found another adversary on his back, and was borne down inexorably to the bottom.

      "Just about this time a perfectly new idea flashed across the mink's mind, and it startled him. For the first time in his life he thought that perhaps he was a fool. Young otters seemed to be so much older than he had imagined them, so much more unreasonable and bad-tempered, and to have so many teeth. It was a question, he decided—while he was being mauled around among the water weeds—that would bear some thinking over. He wanted to think about it right away. There was no time like the present for digesting these new ideas. Seeing a big root sticking out of the bank, close to the bottom, with a tremendous effort he clawed himself under it and scraped off his antagonists. Shooting out on the other side, he darted off like an eel through the water grass, and hurried away up stream to a certain hollow log he knew, where he might lick his bites and meditate undisturbed. The two Little Furry Ones stared after him for a moment, then crawled out upon the bank and lay down in the sunny grass."

      Uncle Andy got up with an air of decision. "Let's go catch some fish," he said. "They ought to be beginning to rise about now, over by Spring Brook."

      "But what became of the two Little Furry Ones after that?" demanded the

       Babe, refusing to stir.

      "Well, now," protested Uncle Andy in an injured voice, "you know I ain't like Bill and some other folk. I don't know everything. But I've every reason to believe that, with any kind of otter luck, they lived to grow up and have families of their own—and taught every one of them, you may be sure, to slide down hill. As likely as not, that very slide over yonder belongs to one of their families. Now come along and don't ask any more questions."

CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

      THE BLACK IMPS OF PINE-TOP

      "I think I'd like to be a bird," murmured the Babe, wistfully gazing up at the dark green, feathery top of the great pine, certain of whose branches were tossing and waving excitedly against the blue, although there was not a breath of wind to ruffle the expanse of Silverwater. "I think I'd like it—rather." He added the qualification as a prudent after-thought, lest Uncle Andy should think him foolish.

      "In summer!" suggested Uncle Andy, following the Babe's eyes toward the agitated pine-top.

      "Of course in summer!" corrected the Babe hastily. "It must be awful to be a bird in winter!" And he shuddered.

      "You'd better not say 'of course' in that confident way," said Uncle Andy rather severely. "You know so many of the birds go away south in the winter; and they manage to have a pretty jolly time of it, I should think."

      For a moment the Babe looked abashed. Then his face brightened.

      "But then, it is summer, for them, isn't it?" said he sweetly.

      Uncle Andy gave him a suspicious look, to see if he realized the success of his retort. "Had me there!" he thought to himself. But the Babe's face betrayed no sign of triumph, nothing but that eager appetite for information of which Uncle Andy so highly approved.

      "So it depends on what kind of a bird, eh, what?" said he, deftly turning the point. Then he scratched a sputtering sulphur match on the long-suffering leg of his trousers.

      "Yes," said the Babe, with more decision now. "I'd like to be a crow."

      Uncle Andy smoked meditatively for several minutes before replying, till the Babe began to grow less confident as to the wisdom of his choice. But as he gazed up at those green pine-tops, so clear against the blue, all astir with black wings and gay, excited ca-ings, he took courage again. Certainly those crows, at least, were enjoying themselves immensely.

      And he had always had a longing to be able to play in the tops of the trees.

      "Well," said Uncle Andy at last, "perhaps you're not so very far off, this time. If I couldn't be an eagle, or a hawk, or a wild goose, or one of those big-horned owls that we hear every night, or a humming-bird, then I'd rather be a crow than most. A crow has got enemies, of course, but then he's got brains, so that he knows how to make a fool of most of his enemies. And he certainly does manage to get a lot of fun out of life, taking it all in all, except

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