MARCH 349 
“Kingfisher couldn’t stick to the perch, so he dropped 
right on to a piece of the deck of the boat that wasn’t 
buried, and began to beat the eel on the wood and dance 
about. The eel squirmed so, it didn’t hit often, and it 
acted as if it had legs and was dancing too. When 
the fun began, the bird had the eel about in the middle, 
but it pulled away until one end was longer than the 
other, and that made it harder to hold.” 
“Which was the head end, the one that hung down?” 
asked Eliza, who always insisted on precise details. 
“T didn’t know then,” said Tommy; “I couldn’t see, 
and it didn’t keep still long enough for me to ask! 
“At last Kingfisher gave the eel a good bang, and it 
didn’t squirm so much (then I knew the head must have 
been on the long piece because it wouldn’t have hurt 
its tail), and the bird began to swallow and work his 
throat, just like when a snake begins to work a toad 
down. Once or twice he stopped, and I thought that he 
was going to choke and keel over. He didn’t, though, 
but after it was all down, he looked real sorry and un- 
comfortable and his feathers laid down almost flat to 
his head, and he crouched there on the boat quite a while 
before he flew up creek and didn’t fish any more that day. 
“Maybe he’d never caught a salt-water eel before, and 
didn’t know how lively they are; you can’t measure them 
by mud eels out of still water any more’n you can match 
snakes with ground-worms.” 
THE KINGFISHER 
He laughs by the summer stream 
Where the lilies nod and dream, 
As through the sheen of water cool and clear 
He sees the chub and sunfish cutting shear. 
