“Pere Fourchon,” whispered the boy, finding himself alone with the old man, “there’s really an otter!”
“Do you see it?”
“There, see there!”
The old fellow was dumb-founded at beholding under water the reddish-brown fur of an actual otter.
“It’s coming my way!” said the child.
“Hit him a sharp blow on the head and jump into the water and hold him fast down, but don’t let him go!”
Mouche dove into the water like a frightened frog.
“Come, come, my good gentleman,” cried Pere Fourchon to Blondet, jumping into the water and leaving his sabots on the bank, “frighten him! frighten him! Don’t you see him? he is swimming fast your way!”
The old man dashed toward Blondet through the water, calling out with the gravity that country people retain in the midst of their greatest excitements:—
“Don’t you see him, there, along the rocks?”