in the water and love it, the young ones are afraid of it as so many
kittens. So the mother--

But I must tell about that elsewhere. I did not find out that day; for
the young were already good swimmers. I watched the den two or three
hours from a good hiding place, and got several glimpses of the mother
and the little ones. On the way back I ran into a little bay where a
mother shelldrake was teaching her brood to dive and catch trout.
There was also a big frog there that always sat in the same place, and
that I used to watch. Then I thought of a trap, two miles away, which
Simmo had set, and went to see if Nemox, the cunning fisher, who
destroys the sable traps in winter, had been caught at his own game.
So it was afternoon, and I was hungry, when I paddled back to camp. It
occurred to me suddenly that Killooleet might be hungry too; for I had
neglected to feed him. He had grown sleek and comfortable of late, and
never went insect hunting when he could get cold fried trout and corn
bread.

I landed silently and stole up to the tent to see if he were exploring
under the fly, as he sometimes did when I was away. A curious sound, a
hollow _tunk, tunk, tunk, tunk-a-tunk_, grew louder as I approached. I
stole to the big cedar, where I could see the fireplace and the little
opening before my tent, and noticed first that I had left the cracker
box open (it was almost empty) when I hurried away after the otter.
The curious sound was inside, growing more eager every moment--_tunk,
tunk, tunk-a-trrrrrrr-runk, tunk, tunk!_

I crept on my hands and knees to the box, to see what queer thing had
found his way to the crackers, and peeped cautiously over the edge.
There were Killooleet, and Mrs. Killooleet, and the five little