“But she was spry, that youngster, I can tell you. She had felt that darting terror even before she could see it, and had twisted aside like an eel. So, instead of catching her by the throat, as he had planned, the mink only got her by the leg. It was a merciless grip; but, instead of squealing—which she could not have done anyhow, being already under water—the Little Furry One just sank her own sharp 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 n't know it. For she had got her grip so far 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, where the bent arrows of the sunlight quivered among the waving water-weeds, 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 want 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 went.
“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 fighters reached the surface, lashing and splashing, the mink had no more than time to catch a single breath before he found another adversary on his back, and was borne down again inexorably to the bottom.
“Just at this moment, a perfectly new idea flashed across the mink’s mind; and it startled him. For the first time in his life, he thought he was a fool. There was no time like the present for digesting this new idea. Seeing a big root sticking out of the bank, close to the bottom, with a tremendous effort he clawed himself under it, and so scraped off his antagonists. Shooting out on the other side, he darted away like an eel through the water-grass, and hurried up-stream to a certain hollow log he knew, where he might lick his wounds and think over his new idea.
“The Little Furry Ones glared after him for a few moments. Then they crawled out upon the bank, lay down in the sunny grass, and began to wash their faces complaisantly with their paws, apparently quite forgetting that they had just come out of the water.”
WHY THE DEACON WAS LATE FOR CHURCH.—DRAWN BY I. W. TABER.
Vol. XL.—51.
