172 THE LIFE STORY OF AN OTTER 



and banners of the iris ; the air was drowsy with 

 the hum of bees and the sea murmured on the 

 bar ; yet the old man noted nothing of it. His 

 thoughts, too, were all of the otter ; he was busy 

 trying to reconcile the seemingly contradictory 

 discovery of the tracks in two places so far apart. 

 ' 'Tes a job to piece 'em together with leagues — 

 iss, leagues — of moor between. Why, look here. 

 'Tes all eight miles from the revur to the Liddens, 

 and a good three as the hern flies from the 

 Liddens to the ma'sh ; a long journey, an un- 

 accountable long journey for a crittur that edn 

 framed for travellin'. On a midsummer night, 

 too, and he more afeard of the glim o' day than a 

 cheeld of the dark. And then to turn his back 

 on the salmin for the pike, and they poor as can 

 be from spawnin'. Why, the thing edn in reason. 

 But, theere, what's the use of wastin' breeth 

 when he's done it ? For the prents are hisn and 

 none other, and nawthin' could be fresher.' 



The marshman was right : the otter had crossed. 

 At star-peep the creature had slipped from his 

 holt in the side-stream and floated down to Moor 

 Pool, where he killed a grilse, took a slice or two 

 from its shoulder, and left it on the pebbles. 

 Thence, contrary to his habit, he passed down- 

 water, throwing the fish into a panic at every 



