powerful, they had also a back entrance on dry land, hidden by a thicket of fir bushes. The two furry “pups” were at first as sprawling and helpless as new-born kittens, though, of course, a good deal bigger than any kittens that you have ever seen, And being so helpless, their father and mother never left them alone. One always stayed with them while the other went off to hunt trout or muskrat.”
“Why, what could get at them in there ?” interrupted the Babe.
“You see,” explained Uncle Andy, graciously, “either a fox or a weasel might come in by the back door,—if they were hungry enough to take the risk. Or what was much more likely, that slim, black, murderous robber, the mink, might come swimming in by the front entrance, pop his head above the water, see the youngsters alone, and be at their throats in a twinkling. The old otters were not running any risks like that.
“Well, when the Little Furry Ones were about the size of five-month kittens, they were as handsome a pair of youngsters as you are ever likely to set eyes upon. Their fur, rich, and soft, and dark, was the finest ever seen. Like their parents, they had bodies shaped for going through the water at tremendous speed, built like a bulldog’s for strength, and like an eel’s for suppleness.
“But though the Little Furry Ones were thus just built for swimming, they were actually afraid of the water. They hked to see their father or mother dive smoothly down tnto the clear, golden-brown stream that filled their front door, and out into that patch of yellow sunlight shimmering on the weedy bottom, but when invited to follow, they drew back into a corner and pretended to be busy.
“One fine morning, however, they were led out by the back door and introduced to the outside world. How huge and strange it looked to them! For a few minutes, they stole about, poking their noses into everything, and jumping back, startled, at the strange smells they encountered. Then, beginning to feel more at home, they fell to romping on the sunny bank, close to the water. Presently their father slipped gracefully over the bank, and began darting this way and that, and sometimes throwing himself half-way out of the water. The Little Furry Ones stopped playing to watch him. But when he called to them coaxingly to come in and try it, they turned away their heads and pretended to think it was n't worth looking at after all.
“Then, all at once, they got a great surprise. Their mother slyly slipped her nose under them, and threw them, one after the other, far out into the chilly water.”
“Ow!" exclaimed the Babe, with a little gasp of sympathy.
Uncle Andy chuckled. “That ‘s just the way they felt,” said he. “When they came to the top again, they found, to their great surprise, that they could swim. Feeling most indignant and injured, they struck out straight for shore. But there, between them and good, dry ground, swam their mother, and would not let them land. They did not see how mothers could be so heartless. But there was no help for it; so they swam out again very haughtily, and joined their father in midstream. Before they knew it, they were enjoying themselves immensely.
“And now life became much more exciting for them. Tor a while, it was harder to keep them out of the water than it had been to get them into it. They had their first lessons in fishing. And though they were too clumsy at first to catch even a slow, mud-grubbing sucker, they found the attempt most interesting. And soon their parents began to take them on long trips up- and down-stream. You see, their housekeeping being so simple, they never minded leaving the house to look after itself for a couple of days.
“Then, one day, they came to a clay bank, something like that across yonder. The old ones had been there before, but not for some time. When they had slid down twice with their fur all dripping, the track became smooth as oil. You may depend upon it, the youngsters did not need any coaxing to learn that game!
“Taking it all together, it was a pretty jolly life, I can tell yon, there in the sweet-smelling, shadowy woods. Then, one day, as quick as falling off a log, everything was changed.
“A hunter from the city came that way. He had a good eye, a repeating rifle, and no imagination whatever. He shot instantly. “The father otter came down the slide, but he came down in a crumpled heap. The mother might have escaped, but, just for one second, she hesitated, glancing around to see 1f her babies were out of danger. That second was enough for the smart shot across the water. She dropped. The little ones, horrified by the spiteful noise, shrank away into the thick bushes and lay very still, waiting for their mother to come and tell them the danger was past.”
“And she could never come any more,” murmured the Babe, sadly.
“Well, she did n't!" snorted Uncle Andy, the discourager of sentiment. “They never stirred for an hour or more,’ he went on. “Then, at last, they stole out and began hunting everywhere for those lost parents. All about the slide they hunted, among the bushes at the top, in the water and the rushes at the bottom; but they found