"You may say 'Oh!'" retorted Uncle Andy, "but let me tell you, if the wild creatures hadn't pretty short memories, they would have a very unhappy time.
"Well, they had been enjoying themselves and forgetting their troubles for some little time, when, just as it came down the slide, one of them was grabbed and pulled under. The mink had arrived and decided to settle accounts with the youngsters. He had probably been thinking it over, and come to the conclusion that they were getting too bumptious. Darting up through the water, he had snapped savagely at the careless player's throat.
"But the latter—it was the female, and spry, I can tell you—had felt that darting terror even before she had time to see it, and twisted aside like an eel. So instead of catching her by the throat, as he had so amiably intended, the mink only got her leg, up close by the shoulder. It was a deep and merciless grip; but instead of squealing—which she could not have done anyhow, being already under water—the Little Furry One just sank her sharp white teeth into the back of her enemy's neck, and held on for dear life. It was exactly the right thing to do, though she did not know it. For she had got her grip so high up on the mink's neck that he could not twist his head around far enough to catch her by the throat. Deep down at the bottom of the pool the two rolled over and over each other; and the mink was most annoyed to find how strong the youngster was, and how set in her ways. Moreover, he had been under water longer than she had, and was beginning to feel he'd like a breath of fresh air. He gave a kick with his powerful hind legs, and, as the Little Furry One had no objection, up they came.
"Now, the other youngster had not been able, just at first, to make out what was happening. He thought his sister had gone down to the bottom for fun. But when he saw her coming up, locked in that deadly struggle with their old enemy, his heart swelled with fury. He sprang clear out into the deep water when the struggling pair reached the surface, lashing and splashing, and the mink had only bare time to snatch a single breath of air before he found another adversary on his back, and was borne down inexorably to the bottom.
"Just about this time a perfectly new idea flashed across the mink's mind, and it startled him. For the first time in his life he thought that perhaps he was a fool. Young otters seemed to be so much older than he had imagined them, so much more unreasonable and bad-tempered, and to have so many teeth. It was a question, he decided—while he was being mauled around among the water weeds—that would bear some thinking over. He wanted to think about it right away. There was no time like the present for digesting these new ideas. Seeing a big root sticking out of the bank, close to the bottom, with a tremendous effort he clawed himself under it and scraped off his antagonists. Shooting out on the other side, he darted off like an eel through the water grass, and hurried away up stream to a certain hollow log he knew, where he might lick his bites and meditate undisturbed. The two Little Furry Ones stared after him for a moment, then crawled out upon the bank and lay down in the sunny grass."
Uncle Andy got up with an air of decision. "Let's go catch some fish," he said. "They ought to be beginning to rise about now, over by Spring Brook."
"But what became of the two Little Furry Ones after that?" demanded the
Babe, refusing to stir.
"Well, now," protested Uncle Andy in an injured voice, "you know I ain't like Bill and some other folk. I don't know everything. But I've every reason to believe that, with any kind of otter luck, they lived to grow up and have families of their own—and taught every one of them, you may be sure, to slide down hill. As likely as not, that very slide over yonder belongs to one of their families. Now come along and don't ask any more questions."