And neither could the children. And while they
stood staring--the black-and-white dog with his tongue hanging out and
his tail forgetting to wag, and the children with their eyes quite
round--Little Silk Wing fluttered up into the air, flew hesitatingly
this way and that for a moment till he felt sure of himself, and then
darted off to the shelter of those woods where he had so often
accompanied his mother on her hunting."
The Child heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad he got off," he
murmured.
"I thought you would be. That's why he did," said Uncle Andy
enigmatically.
CHAPTER IX
A LITTLE ALIEN IN THE WILDERNESS
It was too hot and clear and still that morning for the most expert of
fishermen to cast his fly with any hope of success. The broad
pale-green lily pads lay motionless on the unruffled breast of
Silverwater. Nowhere even the round ripple of a rising minnow broke
the blazing sheen of the lake. The air was so drowsy that those sparks
of concentrated energy, the dragonflies, forgot to chase their aerial
quarry and slept, blazing like amethysts, rubies and emeralds, on the
tops of the cattail rushes. Very lazily and without the slightest
reluctance, Uncle Andy ruled in his line, secured his cast, and leaned
his rod securely in a forked branch to await more favorable conditions
for his pet pastime.
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