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Page 3
As he stared across the water a dozen questions crowded to the Babe's
lips. But he realized in time that the answers to them were fairly
obvious to himself, and he heroically choked them back. Had he not
that very morning been rebuked by his uncle for asking too many of what
he called "footy" questions? But one burst forth now, in spite of
himself.
"What do they do it for?" he demanded--having perhaps a vague idea that
all the motives of the wild creatures were, or ought to be, purely
utilitarian.
Uncle Andy turned upon him a withering look; and he shifted his feet
uneasily, convicted of another "footy" question.
"What do you slide down hill for?" inquired Uncle Andy sarcastically.
"Oh!" said the Babe hastily. "I see. And now are we going to catch
some fish?"
But Uncle Andy had stood his rod in a bush and sat down on the fallen
tree; and now he was getting out his old black pipe.
"Well now," he answered presently, "I don't think it would be much use
trying. What do you think?"
"Of course not," answered the Babe. "Otter have scared 'em all away."
"You really are doing very well," said Uncle Andy, "if you _did_ ask
that one fool question. When we were creeping up on the otter, to try
and get a look at them while they were playing, you did very well
indeed. You stepped as light as a cat, and that's not easy mind, I
tell you, when one's not trained to it. You didn't even breathe too
hard--and I know you must have been just bursting with excitement.
You've got the makings of a first-rate woodsman in you, if you take
pains."
The Babe's small chest swelled with pride; for commendation from Uncle
Andy was a scarce article. He too sat down on the fallen trunk and
began digging at the bark with his knife to hide his exultation.
"I suppose now," went on Uncle Andy presently, when his pipe was
drawing well, "you know quite a lot about otter."
"Nothing at all but what Bill's told me," answered the Babe with fine
diplomacy.
"Forget it!" said Uncle Andy; and went on smoking in thoughtful
silence. Presently he remarked--"This otter family appears to have
been having a pretty good time!"
"Great!" said the Babe laconically.
"Well," continued Uncle Andy, regarding him with approval, "there was
once another otter family, away up on the Little North Fork of the
Ottanoonsis, that used to have such good times till at last they struck
a streak of bad luck."
"Did you know them?" asked the Babe.
"Well, not as you might say intimately," answered Uncle Andy, with a
far-away look in his grey eyes. "You see, they had no way of knowing
how nice I was, so they never admitted me into their family circle.
But I knew a lot more about them than they ever guessed, I can tell
you. When the flies weren't too bad I used to lie by the hour behind a
thick bush, never stirring a finger, and watch them."
"My, but how tired you must have got!" interrupted the Babe feelingly.
"I don't _have_ to twiddle my fingers, and scratch my head, and jump up
and down every two minutes and a half," said Uncle Andy rather
severely. "But, as I was going to say, they also got used to seeing me
sitting on the bank, quiet and harmless, till they no longer felt so
shy of me as they did of Jim Cringle, my guide. They knew Jim was an
enemy, and they gave him a wide berth always. But they seemed to think
I wasn't of much account."
"Oh!" protested the Babe politely. It did not seem to him quite right
that Uncle Andy should be regarded lightly, even by an otter.
"Well, you know, I _wasn't_ of much account. I was neither dangerous,
like Jim Cringle, nor good to eat, like a muskrat or a pickerel. So I
don't appear any more in this yarn. If you find yourself wondering how
I came to know about some of the things I'm going to tell you, just
make believe I got it from the chickadee, who is the most confidential
little chap in the world, or from the whisky-Jack, who makes a point,
as you may have observed, of knowing everybody else's business."
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