420 



THE NATURE BOOK 



sity for a fresh air-supply was forced 

 on him, he shot up to the surface, and, 

 in the absence of any cover, gulped at 

 the air and dived afresh. If there 

 was any cover however (a single leaf 

 was sufficient), he would rise with his 

 nostrils beneath it, and hang slanting 

 and motionless, with his head, and, so far 

 as he knew, the rest of him completely 

 concealed. On several occasions when 

 there was no cover he brought up water- 

 logged leaves from the bottom. Whether 

 this was pure accident, or instinctive 

 cunning. I am unable to say, but of the 

 fact that he used such water-logged leaves 

 as cover I am certain. 



From these experiments I drew the 

 following conclusions : — A Water Rat's 

 normal time of submergence is half a 

 minute — five minutes would certainly 

 drown him. A Water Rat's \-ision under 

 water is good. A Water Rat who dives 

 and fails to reappear either (i) swims under 

 water to some submerged and known 

 hole in the bank, or (2) rises under 

 cover in such a way that he can 

 breathe unseen, or (3) chngs to the 

 bottom. In the first case it would be 

 impossible to observe his emergence ; 

 in the two other cases it would need 

 an extremely sharp and practised eye 

 to detect it. 



A Water Rat who is startled while 

 swimming invariably dives, but a Water 

 Rat ashore often prefers to trust to the 

 protective character of his surroundings, 

 and flattens himself so that he can look 

 upwards and backwards in the direction 

 from which he instinctively suspects 

 danger. The position shows him at his 

 worst, but lends itself to " stroking," 

 if the caress be tactfully offered. For a 

 more worthy conception of his quality 

 one must study his " round " and his 

 " halts." The latter can be determined, 

 at any time, from the tokens of his 

 presence which he lea\-es behind him. 

 Often they are on spits of mud such as 

 form on the inner curves of streams, 

 often on silted inlets sheltered by over- 

 hanging grass, often at the submerged 

 end of some fallen willow or mass of 

 flotsam. 



Evening and morning he visits them, 

 and, given a spot whence one can command 

 a good length of stream, one can count, 



in fine weather, on being able to observe 

 his progress. 



A ripple heralds his coming. Turn 

 your glass towards it and you will probably 

 see no more than a ripple. This means 

 that he is hugging the bank and that 

 the hollow of it conceals him. Presently 

 you catch him heading outwards. He 

 swings sideways to midstream, then seeks 

 the bank again. You lose him altogether 

 now, even the ripple of him. Mark the 

 spot, for later you will find a sheltered 

 run in the reed-bed, and here, if you will, 

 you may trap him. At last he reappears, 

 ten yards from where you lost him. 

 This is where he crosses the river, but, 

 before starting he sits back on his 

 haunches and cleans himself all over. 

 Then he snifts the air, looks upstream 

 and down, gives himself a little shake, 

 and slips into the water. He heads 

 straight for the opposing bank, but 

 the current catches him, and he lands 

 ten yards below his starting place. 



Another little shake and he is dry. 

 You need the glass no longer. For ten 

 minutes the pair of you sit wrapt in a 

 brown study. Presently he remembers 

 the object of his journey, and swims out 

 to the clump of mare's tail. He plays 

 here for five minutes, sometimes scram- 

 bling over it, sometimes diving into it. 

 It seems to hold some delicacy — small 

 snails, perhaps, which serve to whet his 

 hunger. He swims back shorewards, 

 makes as though to land, but, at the last 

 moment, changes his purpose, and ghdes 

 half-floating, half-swimming, down to 

 the second reed - bed. In this he dis- 

 appears, but the reed-stems bend and 

 creak and flutter, and presently he comes, 

 as you knew he would, to the clearing 

 which directly fronts you. The clearing 

 looks as though some beast had rolled 

 in it. The reeds lie prostrate, here and 

 there lopped short, here and there dragged 

 side\\ays, here and there entangled. 



The Rat runs on them carelessly, 

 though at each step the water oozes round 

 him. He knows them v/ell, for he himself 

 felled them. To-night he will fell more. 

 He rears himself on his hind legs and 

 starts to nibble. A reed-stem sways 

 and shivers ; presently it falls. Then he 

 starts nibbling lower. His object is to 

 gain the pith. He soon reaches it, and 



