use making more trouble with her unfriendly guests over a matter that
was now past remedy. So all was overlooked, and the burrow settled
down once more to the harmony of mutual aversion."

Uncle Andy stopped and proceeded to refill his pipe, waiting for the
Child's verdict. The Child's face wore the grieved look of one who has
had an illusion shattered.

"I shan't ever believe a word Bill tells me again," said he, with
injured decision.

"Oh," said Uncle Andy, "you mustn't go so far as that. Bill tells lots
of interesting things that are true enough as far as they go. You must
learn to discriminate."

The Child did not know what "discriminate" meant, and he was at the
moment too depressed to ask. But he resolved firmly to learn it,
whatever it was, rather than be so deceived again.

CHAPTER XII

THE BABY AND THE BEAR

A stiffish breeze was blowing over Silverwater. Close inshore, where
the Babe was fishing, the water was fairly calm--just sufficiently
ruffled to keep the trout from distinguishing too clearly that small,
intent figure at the edge of the raft. But out in the middle of the
lake the little whitecaps were chasing each other boisterously.

The raft was a tiny one, of four logs pinned together with two lengths
of spruce pole. It was made for just the use which the Babe was now
putting it to. A raft was so much more convenient than a boat or a
canoe when the water was still and one had to make long, delicate casts
in order to drop one's fly along the edges of the lily pods. But the
Babe was not making long, delicate casts. On such a day as this the
somewhat unsophisticated trout of Silverwater demanded no subtleties.
They were hungry, and they were feeding close inshore, and the Babe was
having great sport. The fish were not large, but they were clean,
trim-jawed, bright fellows, some of them not far short of the
half-pound; and the only blue-bottle in the ointment of the Babe's
exultation was that Uncle Andy was not on hand to see his triumph. To
be sure, the proof would be in the pan that night, browned in savory
cornmeal after the fashion of the New Brunswick backwoods. But the
Babe had in him the makings of a true sportsman, and for him a trout
had just one brief moment of unmatchable perfection--the moment when it
was taken off the hook and held up to be gloated over or coveted.

The raft had been anchored, carelessly enough, by running an inner
corner lightly aground. The