"How do you get into it?" asked Buddy. "And what's your name,—if you don't mind telling me."
"We swim, of course," said the Little Neighbor, "and I am one of the Musquash children. Some folks call us Muskrats, but we don't like that name. We like the Indian name better."
"I saw your father and mother going home," said Buddy, "but they just sank down in the water, and didn't come up. I'd be worried about them if I were in your place."
The Musquash child just laughed. "You don't suppose we go away and leave our front door open so any one can go in, do you?" he said.
"We make a tunnel that leads up to our house, under the water of the brook, and nobody can find it except ourselves. Much better than locking the door."
"What makes you so afraid of people?" asked Buddy. "I guess you would be afraid," said the Musquash child, "if people wanted your skin to make coats of. Traps all about, and spies and enemies, until we never know what is going to happen. But there is Mother calling me. We haven't had supper yet. Goodbye," he called and with a wonderfully big splash for so small a child he swam away.
Buddy watched him out of sight. Then he too went home to supper.
After his lessons were over for the night, Buddy asked, "Daddy, what is a Musquash's skin good for? And why do people hunt them?"
"It's good for a beautiful coat," said Cousin Betty who was visiting there, "if you have money enough. I haven't!"