t
into the deep water when the struggling pair reached the surface,
lashing and splashing, and the mink had only bare time to snatch a
single breath of air before he found another adversary on his back, and
was borne down inexorably to the bottom.

"Just about this time a perfectly new idea flashed across the mink's
mind, and it startled him. For the first time in his life he thought
that perhaps he was a fool. Young otters seemed to be so much older
than he had imagined them, so much more unreasonable and bad-tempered,
and to have so many teeth. It was a question, he decided--while he was
being mauled around among the water weeds--that would bear some
thinking over. He wanted to think about it right away. There was no
time like the present for digesting these new ideas. Seeing a big root
sticking out of the bank, close to the bottom, with a tremendous effort
he clawed himself under it and scraped off his antagonists. Shooting
out on the other side, he darted off like an eel through the water
grass, and hurried away up stream to a certain hollow log he knew,
where he might lick his bites and meditate undisturbed. The two Little
Furry Ones stared after him for a moment, then crawled out upon the
bank and lay down in the sunny grass."

Uncle Andy got up with an air of decision. "Let's go catch some fish,"
he said. "They ought to be beginning to rise about now, over by Spring
Brook."

"But what became of the two Little Furry Ones after that?" demanded the
Babe, refusing to stir.

"Well, _now_," protested Uncle Andy in an injured voice, "you _know_ I
ain't like Bill and some other folk. I don't know everything. But
I've every reason to believe that, with any kind of otter luck, they
lived to grow up and have families of their own--and taught every one
of them, you may be sure, to slide down hill. As likely as not, that
very slide over yonder belongs to one of their families. Now come
along and don't ask any more questions."

CHAPTER II

THE BLACK IMPS OF PINE-TOP

"I think I'd _like_ to be a bird," murmured the Babe, wistfully gazing
up at the dark green, feathery top of the great pine, certain of whose
branches were tossing and waving excitedly against the blue, although
there was not a breath of wind to ruffle the expanse of Silverwater.
"I _think_ I'd like it--rather." He added the qualification as a
prudent after-thought, lest Uncle Andy should think him foolish.

"In _summer_!" suggested