MORE ABOUT THE OTTER 
however, touch the head of any otter that is domesti- 
cated. There have been exceptions to this, but it 
is a wise precaution to observe. Animals have their 
little whims, like ourselves. 
To return to my friend and his dead otter. I 
have the latter at my feet, and there place him in one 
of his favourite attitudes, that of floating calmly with 
the current down some stream, or over the sharply 
running river-shallows. Head, body, and the long, 
powerful tail are in a straight line, his body flattened 
out, so that his webbed feet act like four short oars. 
This is a characteristic position, but life is wanting. 
A while ago his grey-brown fur glistened in the light, 
falling in so closely with the shadows under the 
banks and the wet mud of the river-side, that he 
looked more like a wraith or water-shadow than the 
strong, active creature he really was. 
As I look at him some old memories come up, 
and I am young once more, standing on the sloping 
boards of an old weir. The leaves are falling in 
showers, like faded flowers blown all about, for it is 
November. 
A white hoar-frost is on the weir boards and on 
the grass in the meadows, but that does not prevent 
me from plunging into ten feet of water so as to swim 
underneath the overhanging bank in search of the 
