long line, five little Killooleets, hopping, fluttering, cheeping,
stumbling,--all in a fright at the big world, but all in a desperate
hurry for crackers and porridge _ad libitum_; now casting hungry eyes
at the plate under the old cedar, now stopping to turn their heads
sidewise to see the big kind animal with only two legs, that
Killooleet had told them about, no doubt, many times.

After that we had often seven guests to breakfast, instead of two. It
was good to hear them, the lively _tink, tink-a-tink_ of their little
bills on the tin plate in a merry tattoo, as I ate my own tea and
trout thankfully. I had only to raise my eyes to see them in a bobbing
brown ring about my bounty; and, just beyond them, the lap of ripples
on the beach, the lake glinting far away in the sunshine, and a bark
canoe fretting at the landing, swinging, veering, nodding at the
ripples, and beckoning me to come away as soon as I had finished my
breakfast.

Before the little Killooleets had grown accustomed to things, however,
occurred the most delicious bit of our summer camping. It was only a
day or two after their first appearance; they knew simply that crumbs
and a welcome awaited them at my camp, but had not yet learned that
the tin plate in the cedar roots was their special portion. Simmo had
gone off at daylight, looking up beaver signs for his fall trapping. I
had just returned from the morning fishing, and was getting breakfast,
when I saw an otter come out into the lake from a cold brook over on
the east shore. Grabbing a handful of figs, and some pilot bread from
the cracker box, I paddled away after the otter; for that is an animal
which one has small chance to watch nowadays. Besides, I had found a
den over near the brook, and I wanted to find out, if possible, how a
mother otter teaches her young to swim. For, though otters live much