"Sweet!" I echoed. "But aren't they big ones?"
"Big!" cried Kittiwake. "Why, they're only butchas;" and she lifted the edge of the basket to get a better view, at which one of the butchas made a rush for the opening and made straight at me. With a yell I snatched up my skirts, knocked over Hilda, leapt "like a haarse" on to the verandah straight into the astonished Mr. Royle, while the weird beast disappeared like a yellow streak.
"Whatever is the matter?" he asked as I sank to the floor.
"Olivia's afraid of the butcha otter!" squealed Hilda, while she scampered about looking for the truant.
"Otter?" said I.
"Yes," said Mr. Royle; "they are baby otters that the fisherman found at the side of the lake. I thought of sending them to the Calcutta Zoo. They aren't very common in India."
"I'm so glad!" I gasped; and Mr. Royle looked mystified. It didn't seem exactly a reason for fervent gladness, but suppose they had been mongooses? My life, so to speak, was ruined.
Staying in the house with Mr. Royle is rather like being with Colonel Newcome in the flesh. He
