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.
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