CHAPTER VIII 



THE OTTER AND HIS MATE 



Rather more than a year has passed since the 

 hunt. The vegetation then in flower, after 

 blooming again, has lost its glory, and is now 

 withering and dying. In the marsh the reeds 

 are sapless, the flags stained by decay, the tall- 

 stemmed flowering plants shrivelled to skeletons, 

 disarray and discoloration appear everywhere, 

 save perhaps in the velvet spikes of the mace- 

 reed, whose hue yet rivals in its rich umber the 

 pelt of the otter curled up below them on the 

 spot where he lay in the days of rebellious cub- 

 hood. But what a huge fellow he has grown ! 

 Fine whelp though he was, he has developed 

 beyond all promise, and there is not an otter on 

 his rounds that can compare with him. He is 

 inches longer and pounds heavier even than his 

 father, and it is little wonder that he should have 

 attracted the notice of sportsmen and become 

 the talk of the country-side. For though since 

 he reached his prime no one has caught more 

 than a glimpse of him, yet keeper, bailiff and 



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