96 THE LIFE STORY OF AN OTTER 



he was right : they were returning and becoming 

 more and more distinct every minute. ' Hoorah,' 

 he shouted in his exultation; 'the otter must 

 have come up-water laast night ; wheere's he 

 lyin', wonder.' His eyes, almost starting from 

 his head, followed the pack as it drew nearer and 

 nearer to Moor Pool. They reached it ; then he 

 was all anxiety to see whether they would take up 

 the tributary or keep to the river. Like a man 

 toeing the line for a foot-race he stood ready to 

 start, and if they had gone up the stream he 

 would have descended the hill at breakneck 

 speed ; but they did not : they came on. ' Niver 

 such a bit of luck in all my born days,' said he, 

 his weather-beaten face beaming with delight. 

 Presently, as the deep bay, like the bay of blood- 

 hounds, reached his ears : ' What moosic ! how 

 wild and savage and grand it is ! eb s and what a 

 sight for one pair of eyes ! The squire 'd give 

 gold to be in my shoes.' Not for a single instant 

 did the harbourer divert his gaze from the pack. 

 ■ Pretty, pretty,' he kept saying as the hounds, 

 time after time, recovered the line momentarily 

 lost. 'They're travellin' fast. It's time to be 

 going down. I'll lay a groat the otter's in the 

 Kieve.' With a bound he was off and, following 

 the overflow, had just reached the big boulder 



