"Oh!" said the Babe hastily. "I see. And now are we going to catch some fish?"
But Uncle Andy had stood his rod in a bush and sat down on the fallen tree; and now he was getting out his old black pipe.
"Well now," he answered presently, "I don't think it would be much use trying. What do you think?"
"Of course not," answered the Babe. "Otter have scared 'em all away."
"You really are doing very well," said Uncle Andy, "if you did ask that one fool question. When we were creeping up on the otter, to try and get a look at them while they were playing, you did very well indeed. You stepped as light as a cat, and that's not easy mind, I tell you, when one's not trained to it. You didn't even breathe too hard—and I know you must have been just bursting with excitement. You've got the makings of a first-rate woodsman in you, if you take pains."
The Babe's small chest swelled with pride; for commendation from Uncle Andy was a scarce article. He too sat down on the fallen trunk and began digging at the bark with his knife to hide his exultation.
"I suppose now," went on Uncle Andy presently, when his pipe was drawing well, "you know quite a lot about otter."
"Nothing at all but what Bill's told me," answered the Babe with fine diplomacy.
"Forget it!" said Uncle Andy; and went on smoking in thoughtful silence. Presently he remarked—"This otter family appears to have been having a pretty good time!"
"Great!" said the Babe laconically.