176 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
leaves little more to be said. Yet, in spite of this 
fact, a baby otter, unlike a duckling, is mortally 
afraid of his first plunge. When the hour struck 
for their lesson, Brownie and his brother and sis- 
ter had to be urged firmly, if not gently, down- 
stairs into the moist front hall, whence they were 
propelled out into the brook. The first thing 
they did on reaching the brook was to make a mad 
scramble for their parents’ shoulders, and finding 
their parents brutally unresponsive, they splashed 
to shore as best they could, climbed up the bank, 
and squatted there, very wet and astonished and 
miserable. 
This would never do. Pa and Ma Otter came 
up after them, grabbed one apiece and mutually 
cuffed the third, till all three babies once more 
went splashing into the dread element below." 
This seems like a rough way to be taught to swim, 
and is not practiced at our best summer resorts. 
But it worked. By the time the cubs were the 
size, say, of rabbits, they were fully qualified for 
the metropolitan championship, and they were 
more at home in the water than out of it. They 
swam and played till they were tired, and then 
