like a frightened cat, and a tiny stream of
water trickling down from the tip of his heavy pointed tail, as he ate
his fish with immense relish.

Years afterward, hundreds of miles away on the Dungarvon, in the heart
of the wilderness, every detail of the scene came back to me again.
I was standing on snowshoes, looking out over the frozen river, when
Keeonekh appeared in an open pool with a trout in his mouth. He broke
his way, with a clattering tinkle of winter bells, through the thin edge
of ice, put his paws against the heavy snow ice, threw himself out with
the same wriggling jump, and ate with his back arched--just as I had
seen him years before.

This curious way of eating is, I think, characteristic of all otters;
certainly of those that I have been fortunate enough to see. Why they
do it is more than I know; but it must be uncomfortable for every
mouthful--full of fish bones, too--to slide uphill to one's stomach.
Perhaps it is mere habit, which shows in the arched backs of all the
weasel family. Perhaps it is to frighten any enemy that may approach
unawares while Keeonekh is eating, just as an owl, when feeding on the
ground, bristles up all his feathers so as to look as big as possible.

But my first otter was too keen-scented to remain long so near a
concealed enemy. Suddenly he stopped eating and turned his head in my
direction. I could see his nostrils twitching as the wind gave him its
message. Then he left his fish, glided into the stream as noiselessly as
the brook entered it below him, and disappeared without leaving a single
wavelet to show where he had gone down.

When the young otters appeared, there was one of the most interesting
lessons to be seen in the woods. Though Keeonekh loves the water and
lives in it more than half the time, his little ones are afraid of it as
so many kittens. If left to themselves they would undoubtedly go off
for a hunting life, following the old family instinct; for fishing is an
acquired habit of the otters, and so the fishing instinct cannot yet
be transmitted to the little ones. That will take many generations.
Meanwhile the little Keeonekhs must be taught to swim.

One day the mother-otter appeared on the bank among the roots of the
great tree under which was their secret doorway. That was surprising,
for up to this time both otters had always approached it from the river,
and were never seen on the bank near their den. She appeared to be
digging, but was imm