Caution was born in them; they put their little feet down as if
treading on eggs, and they sniffed every bush before going behind
it. And the old mother noted their cunning with satisfaction
while her own nose and ears watched far away.

The outing was all too short; some uneasiness was in the air down
stream. Suddenly she rose from where she was lying, and the
little ones, as if commanded, tumbled back into the den. In a
moment she had glided after them, and the bank was deserted. It
was fully ten minutes before my untrained cars caught faint
sounds, which were not of the woods, coming up stream; and longer
than that before two men with fish poles appeared, making their
slow way to the pond above. They passed almost over the den and
disappeared, all unconscious of beast or man that wished them
elsewhere, resenting their noisy passage through the solitudes.
But the otters did not come out again, though I watched till
nearly dark.

It was a week before I saw them again, and some good teaching had
evidently been done in the meantime; for all fear of the river
was gone. They toddled out as before, at the same hour in the
afternoon, and went straight to the bank. There the mother lay
down, and the little ones, as if enjoying the frolic, clambered
up to her back. Whereupon she slid into the stream and swam
slowly about with the little Keeonekhs clinging to her
desperately, as if humpty-dumpty had been played on them before,
and might be repeated any moment.

I understood their air of anxious expectation a moment later,
when Mother Otter dived like a flash from under them, leaving