108 THE LIFE STORY OF AN OTTER 



to sleep two successive days in the same hover. 

 In one fastness, however, he was content to linger 

 — the headland between the Gull Rock and the 

 Shark's Fin. There he would stay for days 

 together, held by the drear solitude, the supply of 

 fish, and the snug lying in the caves that honey- 

 combed the cliff, where man never came, and 

 where, whether the wind blew from the east or 

 from the west, the otter, who disliked exposure to 

 it as much as any fox, could always find a recess 

 on the lee side to shelter in. He took no notice 

 of the tolling of the bell that marked the reef on 

 which he often landed, and the only thing that 

 drove him away was the flooding of his hovers 

 by tempestuous seas. This at last made him 

 seek the drain in the island of the squire's pond 

 the day before he came to the marsh, sharing it 

 with two other dog-otters, refugees like himself. 

 At dusk he foraged along-shore despite the heavy 

 ground seas, and at peep of day returned to his 

 old couch at the foot of the reeds. 



To see him lying there no one would dream 

 that he lived in fear of his life. His breathing is 

 placid, his limbs are quiet ; no whimper, telling 

 of disturbing dreams, escapes his lips ; the very 

 lapdog on the hearth might be more troubled 

 than he. Nor does he seem to be the ferocious 



