ng-log, "you see, he
was no longer a snowhouse baby, because the snowhouse was all smashed up,
and also rapidly melting. Moreover, it was no longer winter, you know;
so he was just like lots of other wild babies, and went about getting
into trouble, and getting out again, and growing up, till at last, when
he was almost half as big as herself and _perfectly_ well able to take
care of himself, his mother chased him away and went off to find another
snowhouse."

CHAPTER VIII

LITTLE SILK WING

The first of the twilight over Silverwater. So ethereal were the thin
washes of palest orange and apple-green reflection spreading over the
surface of the lake, out beyond the fringe of alder bushes, so
bubble-like in delicacy the violet tones of the air among the trees,
just fading away into the moth-wing brown of dusk, that the Child was
afraid to ask even the briefest questions, lest his voice should break
the incomparable enchantment. Uncle Andy sat smoking, his eyes
withdrawn in a dream. From the other side of the point, quite out of
sight, where Bill was washing the dishes after the early camp supper,
came a soft clatter of tins. But the homely sound had no power to jar
the quiet.

The magic of the hour took it, and transmuted it, and made it a note in
the chord of the great stillness. From the pale greenish vault of sky
came a long, faint twang as of a silver string, where the swoop of a
night hawk struck the tranced air to a moment's vibration. A minute or
two later the light splash of a small trout leaping, and then, from the
heart of the hemlock wood further down the shore, the mellow
_hoo-hoo-hoo-oo_ of a brown owl.

The Child was squatting on the mossy turf and staring out, round-eyed,
across the water. Suddenly he jumped, clapped both grimy little hands
to his face, and piped a shrill "Oh!" A bat's wing had flittered past
his nose so close that he might have caught it in his teeth if he had
wanted to--_and_ been quick enough.

Uncle Andy turned, took his pipe from his mouth with marked
deliberation, and eyed the Child severely.

"What on earth's the matter?" he inquired, after a disapproving pause.

"I thought it was trying to bite my nose," explained the Child
apologetically.

"There's not very much to bite, you know," said Uncle Andy, in a
carping mood at having had his reveries disturbed.

"I know it's pretty little, and turns up--rather," agreed the Child;
"but I don't want anything to b