A Torpedo in Feathers 



THE blue kingfisher, flying over the 

 still surface of the lake, and peering 

 downward curiously as he flew, saw into its 

 depths as if they had been clear glass. What 

 he hoped to see was some small fish chub, 

 shiner, or yellow perch, or trout, basking 

 incautiously near the surface. What he saw 

 was a sinister dark shape, elongated but 

 massive, darting in a straight line through 

 the transparent amber, some three or four 

 feet below the surface. Knowing well enough 

 what that meant no fish so foolish as to 

 linger in such dread neighbourhood the 

 kingfisher flew on indignantly, with a loud 

 clattering laugh like a rattle. He would do 

 his fishing, according to his usual custom, in 

 the shallower waters along shore, where the 

 great black loon was less at home. 



Darting straight ahead for an amazing 

 distance, like a well-aimed torpedo, the loon 



180 



