THE WATER-HEN 
neatly as a grebe into the underwater world, 
full of cool indefinitudes and amber lights, and 
instantly the otter's rush washed him into a 
tangle of weeds. He thrust up his bill under a 
crowfoot leaf, and caught one shuddering, 
delicious breath of air before his pursuer saw 
the bubbles and snapped at them a second too 
late. The chick dived down until he could see 
the caddis grubs crawling about on the bottom 
beneath him. Then the mud cloud stirred up 
by the otter's passage enveloped him, and he 
struggled through it to the surface gasping. 
Three times he dived and came up again, and 
the third time he was close to the bank with a 
welcome rat-hole in front of him. He crept 
inside and cowered out of sight, as the waves 
created by the otter's successful hunting broke 
on the floor at his feet. 
Half an hour afterwards, when the Pool was 
still again, his mother swam under the brambles 
and called him. He came out, cheeping 
sadly, and she took him away quietly to covert. 
All day they hid among the watercresses. 
The reflections of the ripples threw sinister 
shimmers upon the leaves, which the otter's 
heavy paws had beaten flat. They heard 
Karruck call once or twice as he skulked in the 
bushes, but the runt-chick had the dusky 
31 
