Chapter 5
But one day Tom had a new adventure. He was sitting on a water-lily leaf. He and his friend the dragon-fly were watching the gnats dance. The dragon-fly had eaten as many as he wanted, and was sitting quite still and sleepy. It was very hot and bright. The dragon-fly kept on chatting to Tom about the times when he lived under the water.
Suddenly, Tom heard the strangest noise up the stream cooing; and grunting; and whining; and squeaking.
He looked up the water, and there he saw a sight as strange as the noise. A great ball was rolling over and over down the stream, seeming one moment of soft brown fur, and the next of shining glass. Yet, it was not a ball; for sometimes it broke up and streamed away In pieces, and then it joined again. All the while, the noise came out of it louder and louder.
Tom asked the dragon-fly what it could be. But, with his short sight he could not even see it though it was not ten yards away. So he took the neatest little header into the water and started off to see for himself. When he came near, the ball turned out to be four or five beautiful creatures—many times larger than Tom. They were swimming about; and rolling; and diving; and twisting; and wrestling; and cuddling; and kissing, and biting; and scratching, in the most charming fashion that ever was seen.
But when the biggest of them saw Tom, she darted out from the rest and cried, “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 slipped in between the water-lily roots as fast as he could. Then he 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.
“Come away, children,’ said the otter in disgust, “it is not worth eating, after all. It is only a nasty eft, which nothing eats.”
“I am not an eft!” said Tom “efts have tails.”
“You are an eft,” said the otter, very positively, “I see your two hands quite plain; and I know you have a tail.”
“I tell you I have not,” said Tom, “Look here!” and he turned his pretty little self quite round. Sure enough, he had no more tail.
“I say you are an eft, and therefore you are, and not fit food for me and my children, You may stay there till the salmon eat you (she knew the salmon would not, but she wanted to frighten poor Tom). Ha! ha! they will eat you, and we will eat them,” and the otter laughed in such a wicked cruel manner.
“What are salmon?” asked Tom.
“Fish, you eft, great fish, nice fish to eat. We hunt them up and down the pools, and drive them up into a comer, the silly things. We catch them, but we disdain to eat them all; we just bite out their soft throats and suck their sweet juice. Oh, so good! (and she licked her wicked lips)—and then throw them away, and go and catch another. They are coming soon, children, coming soon. I can smell the rain coming up off the sea, and then hurrah for salmon, and plenty of eating all day long.”
And the otter grew so proud that she turned head over heels twice. Then she stood upright half out of the water, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“And where do they come from?” asked Tom, who kept himself very close, for he was very frightened.
“Out of the sea, eft, the great wide sea, where they might stay and be safe if they liked. But out of the sea the silly things come, into the great river down below, and we come up to watch for them. When they go down again, we go down and follow them. There we fish for the bass and the pollock, and have jolly days along the shore, and toss and roll in the breakers, and sleep snug in the warm dry crags. All, that is a merry life too, children, if it were not for those horrid men.”
“What are men?” asked Tom. But somehow, he seemed to know before he asked.
“Two-legged things, eft. Now I come to look at you. They are actually something like you, if you had not a tail, only a great deal bigger. They catch the fish with hooks and lines, which get into our feet sometimes, and set pots along the rocks to catch lobsters. They speared my poor dear husband as he went out to find something for me to eat. I saw them carrying him away upon a pole.”
And the otter grew so sad that she sailed solemnly away down the bum, and Tom saw her no more for that time. And lucky it was for her that she did so. No sooner was she gone than down the bank came seven little rough terrier dogs, snuffing and yapping, and grubbing and splashing, in full cry after the otter. Tom hid among the water-lilies till they had gone, for he could not guess that they were the water-fairies who had come to help him.
But he could not help thinking of what the otter had said about the great river and the broad sea. As he thought, he longed to go and see them. But the more he thought, the more he grew discontented with the narrow little stream in which he lived. All his companions there wanted to get out into the wide, wide world, and enjoy all the wonderful sights.
Once he set off to go down the stream. But the stream was very low. When he came to the shallows, he could not keep under water, for there was no water left to keep under. So the sun burned his back and made him sick. He went back again and lay quiet in the pool for a whole week more.
