Half-way to the shore a round, dark spot was ploughing through the water, with two ripples spreading out behind it. It was the head of the mother beaver. Behind her followed another head, and then another. The last little beaver swung his tail around and started after them. He puffed and sputtered when a wave washed over his nose. But he did not mind that at all, because this cool water was much pleasanter than the stale air in the warm room at home.
There, under a bush on the bank, he saw his older brother and sister sitting on their tails, while they nibbled the bark from some sticks beside them. When the baby reached his hand toward the pile they grunted and sniffed at him. Just then a flash of lightning gleamed on their long, yellow teeth, and frightened the little fellow so much that he scampered after his mother and the two other babies.
They followed a path into the woods. The father beavers in the village had made it by cutting down trees and bushes and dragging them out of the way. It was a straight path, and more than wide enough for the fattest old beaver. But the last baby was so much afraid of being left behind that he ran without looking on the ground. He stumbled over two low stumps, and bumped into a trunk at one side, before he caught up to the others.
The Beaver.
“Across the pond to feast in the woods.” Page 65.
He saw the mother beaver standing on her hind-legs under a tree. She reached up as high as she could with her mouth and gnawed off a branch. When it fell crackling and rustling she called the three babies to come and learn how to cut their own sticks to eat. She showed them how to set their teeth against the bark, and tear off a chip with a jerk of the head. Another chip and another was gnawed out till the branch was cut in two. The mother could bite through a small stick with one snip of her jaws.
After that, every night all summer long, the three babies followed their mother out through the tunnel and across the pond to feast in the woods. They ate tender grasses and roots as well as bark. Sometimes they went out before dark to romp and play tag in the pond. The biggest little beaver thought that it was the greatest fun to push the others off floating logs. He chased them round and round, splashing water in their faces and making them duck their heads. They enjoyed the fun as much as he did, especially after they all scrambled upon the bank to rest.
On land, the biggest baby was too fat and clumsy to move as fast as the other two. They danced about on their hind-legs, and pretended to step on his tail or pull his fur. It was beautiful fur, so fine and thick and soft that water could not soak through to the skin. The babies did not have a coat of coarse outer hair like the old beavers. When tired of play they sat up and scratched their heads and shoulders with the claws on their hairy fore-paws. Then, after combing their sides with their hind-feet, they curled down in the grass for a nap.
There were plenty of other little low houses in the pond, and in each one lived a family of beavers. The three babies made friends with all the other babies. Together they explored every corner of the pond, from the brook at the upper end to the dam at the lower end.
Very likely the little fellows believed that the dam had always been there. But in fact the old beavers had built it themselves. When they first came to that spot in the woods they found only a brook flowing over a hard, gravelly bottom. They first cut down a bush and floated it along till it stuck fast between a rock and a clump of trees. Next they cut other bushes, and carried down poles and branches, till they had a tangle of brush stretching from one bank to the other. Upon this they piled sticks and stones and mud, and then more sticks and stones and mud, and then still more sticks and stones and mud.