Master Meadow Mouse did not answer. To tell the truth, the question set him to thinking. He had to admit that it might be a bit awkward to find any cover in case somebody or other made a sudden swoop at him.
"Oh, well!" he said at last. "It can't be helped. There's always some danger in traveling—so I've heard."
His cousin on the bank had stopped running and now stood still and watched him anxiously until the raft had borne Master Meadow Mouse out of sight around a bend.
As the flood swung the craft toward the further side of the creek Master Meadow Mouse beheld a long-legged fisherman standing in the water. Not only did the fisherman have long legs. He had a long bill as well. And he was standing like a statue, waiting for a fish to swim past him. A fish, or a frog, or a mouse! He didn't care which.
Master Meadow Mouse knew him at once. He was Mr. Great Blue Heron—or plain "G. B." as he preferred to be called. While Master Meadow Mouse gazed at him in horror Mr. Heron swiftly thrust his spearlike bill into the water. Even his head went out of sight for a moment.
Mr. Heron did not do that in order to cool his head. Ah, no! When he pulled his bill out of the creek a pickerel came with it. And the pickerel vanished very quickly down Mr. Heron's long neck.
It was not a nice sight for Master Meadow Mouse to see, especially when he was on a pleasure trip. Besides, he noticed with dismay that his raft was bearing him straight towards the fisherman.
"If I only had some oars, or a rudder, I could steer this old raft away from him," Master Meadow Mouse thought. But he had nothing of the sort.
Master Meadow Mouse groaned.