lse. With a screwing backward pull he wrenched
his sword out of the feeler, which seemed hardly to notice the wound.
In the same instant another feeler snatched at him, for Mr. Inkmaker,
you know, had ten tentacles, every one of them spoiling for a fight.
It got only a slight hold, however, and Little Sword, whose strength
was now something amazing, tore himself clear with a great livid,
bleeding, burning patch on his side.

"And now, raging mad though he was, a gleam of sense flashed into his
brain. He saw that it was not much use stabbing those tough tentacles.
Lurching forward as if to stand on his head he shot straight downward,
and drove his sword full length into one of those dreadful eyes.

"In an instant three or four feelers closed upon him. But they were
now thrashing a little aimlessly, so that they did not work well
together. The monster was confused by that terrible, searching trust.
Little Sword was hampered by the feelers clutching at him, but he still
had room to use his weapon. With all his weight and quivering strength
he drove his sword again deep into the Inkmaker's head, twisting and
wrenching it sideways as he drew it out. Other tentacles closed over
him, but seemed to have lost their clutching power through the attack
upon the source of their nervous energy. The struggling barracouta was
drawn down with them, but blindly; and the water was now utterly black
with the rank ink which the monster was pumping forth.

"For a few moments all was one boiling convulsion of fish and tentacles
and ink, Little Sword simply stabbing and stabbing at the soft mass
under his weapon. Then, all at once, the tentacles relaxed, falling
away as slack as seaweed. The barracouta, nearly spent, swam off
without even waiting to say 'Thank you.' And Little Sword coming to
his senses as he realized his victory, rose slowly out of the area of
the ink cloud. He knew that the Inkmaker's flesh was very good to eat,
and he merely waited for the cloud to settle before making a meal which
would completely satisfy his vengeance."

The Babe was thoughtful for a few moments after Uncle Andy stopped
speaking. At length he said positively:

"I'm glad we don't have any Inkmakers, either, in the lake."

"Umph!" grunted Uncle Andy, "there are lots of things we don't have
that we can very well do without."

CHAPTER V

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP

Casting his flies across the eddying mouth of one of those co