Winkle: the Eel-Man 151 



neighbor once said, " his legs are nothin* but 

 a string o* knees." He could bend in half a 

 dozen directions at once, and when walking 

 along the highway he swayed to and fro as 

 if more than half intoxicated ; but in a nar- 

 row, twisting forest-path he glided swiftly, 

 silently, and ghost-like, making no overhang- 

 ing branch bend by the pressure of his hands 

 or body. He wormed his way between ob- 

 stacles that check the progress of ordinary 

 mortals, and it was a hopeless task for any 

 one to attempt to follow him with the same 

 speed and grace. He climbed a tree as a 

 blacksnake darts over a brush-heap or glides 

 along the top rail of an old worm-fence. 

 Stretching along a slender branch, Winkle 

 could reach to outlying points towards which 

 no nest-robbing boy would dare to venture. 

 Perhaps in all this he has had his equals. It 

 was in the water that Winkle was at home. 

 Then he always reminded me of a seal. His 

 movements were very similar, for his arms 

 were not prominent when he swam. The 

 propelling force was derived wholly by leg- 

 motion. The ignorant folk who knew him 

 said that water did not wet him, which was 

 not quite true, but never had a hair ever grown 



