THE WATER BABIES
cuddling, and kissing, and biting, and scratching, in the most charming fashion, that ever was seen. And if you don't believe me, you may go to the Zoological Gardens (for I am afraid that you won't see it nearer, unless, perhaps, you get up at five in the morning, and go down to Cordery's Moor, and watch by the great withy pollard which hangs over the backwater, where the otters breed sometimes), and then say, if otters at play in the water are not the merriest, lithest, gracefullest, creatures you ever saw.
But, when the biggest of them saw Tom, she darted out from the rest, and cried in the water-language sharply enough, "Quick, children; here is something to eat, indeed," and came at poor Tom, showing such a wicked pair of eyes and such a set of sharp teeth in a grinning mouth, that Tom, who had thought her very handsome, said to himself, Handsome is that handsome does, and slipped in between the water-lily roots as fast as he could, and then turned round and made faces at her.
"Come out," said the wicked old otter, "or it will be worse for you."
But Tom looked at her from between two thick roots and shook them with all his might, making horrible faces all the while, just as he used to grin through the railings at the old women, when he lived before. It was not quite well bred, no doubt, but, you know, Tom had not finished his education yet.
"Come away, children," said the otter in disgust; "it is not worth eating, after all. It is only a nasty eft,
94
