"Well," went on Uncle Andy, "just _because_ those level-headed old
otters were always ready for it, nothing happened. You'd better make a
note of that. If you are always ready for trouble when the other
fellow makes it, he will be pretty shy about beginning. That's why the
foxes and the weasels and the minks never came around.

"When the Little Furry Ones were about the size of five months' kittens
they were as handsome a pair of youngsters as you are ever likely to
set eyes upon. Their fur, rich and soft and dark, was the finest ever
seen. Like their parents, they had bodies shaped for going through the
water at a tremendous speed--built like a bulldog's for strength, and
like an eel's for suppleness."

"Not _slimy_!" protested the Babe, who had hated eels whole-heartedly
ever since the day when he had tried to take one off the hook.

"Of course not!" answered Uncle Andy impatiently. "As I was going to
say, they were shaped a good deal like those seals you've seen in the
Zoo, only that instead of flippers they had regulation legs and feet,
and also a tail. It was a tail worth having, too, and not merely
intended for ornament. It was very thick at the base and tapering,
something like a lizard's, and so powerful that one twist of it could
drive its owner through the water like a screw."

"Wish I could swim that way!" murmured the Babe, trying to do the
movement, as he imagined it, with his legs.

"But though the Little Furry Ones were just built for swimming,"
continued Uncle Andy, graciously overlooking the interruption, "they
were actually afraid of it. They liked to see their father or their