"For perhaps a minute the mother, as if bewildered by the violence of
her own exertions, seemed quite unaware of what had happened. At
length she stopped lashing the water, came slowly to the surface stared
about her in a dazed way, and once more bellowed forth her terrible
booming cry. Once more the seabirds sprang terrified to the upper air,
and the old white bear on the far-off shore lifted his head once more
to listen nervously."
"And she never saw her baby any more," murmured the Babe mournfully.
Uncle Andy snorted, disdaining to answer such a remark.
"Oh, I wish somebody would do something to that swordfish," continued
the Babe. And he wiped a tear from his nose.
CHAPTER VI
TEDDY BEAR'S BEE TREE
They were exploring the high slopes of the farther shore of
Silverwater. It had been an unusually long trip for the Babe's short
legs, and Uncle Andy had considerately called a halt, on the pretext
that it was time for a smoke. He knew that the Babe would trudge on
till he dropped in his tracks before acknowledging that he was tired.
A mossy boulder under the ethereal green shade of a silver birch
offered the kind of resting place--comfortable yet unkempt--which
appealed to Uncle Andy's taste; and there below, over a succession of
three low, wooded ridges, lay outspread the enchanting mirror of the
lake.
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