The Tail Slapper 



4 



M ♦ THE CANOEHOUSE MANAGER PHONED 



one April evening to tell me that lie had found my exposure 

 meter in the canoe I had been using. After dinner, I drove 

 down with the intention of returning immediately for I had 

 already experienced a pleasant day on the water and was a 

 bit tired and willing to rest and read. I stood and talked with 

 the manager and then found myself sitting down to enjoy 

 the quiet restfulness of the evening. I watched the canoes 

 come and go. The variation in skill of the paddlers interested 

 me. Some handled the canoes easily, while others indicated 

 by the clumsy way in which they embarked that the canoes 

 were almost never used by them. Before I knew it, darkness 

 had almost slipped in. The airplane beacons in the Cascades 

 had begun to flash and we saw them clearly on three peaks. 

 The power boats displayed their lights, and the highway was 

 bright with the gleam of passing cars. 



The water was in shadow and we could just see the motion 

 of an animal as it crossed the bay. 



"It's a beaver," said the manager. "A good many canoeists 

 have enjoyed them since the year we first saw them. They 

 are the big attraction of the marsh." 



33 



