O-Go, and he ambled down to the water’s 
edge, still hoping to find her. Beaver smell was 
everywhere, but of beavers there was none 
except O-Go himself. 
O-Go whimpered once or twice; that had 
always brought his mother hurrying to see 
what might be the matter. This time, however, 
whimpering did not work at all, for Mother 
Beaver was not there to hear him. She was still 
nearly half a mile away, having just started 
on her search for the little fellow. O-Go whim¬ 
pered again, by now really frightened. He 
was deserted, and the thought of that sent 
his whole world tumbling about his ears. 
Nothing is so frightening to any young crea¬ 
ture as the feeling of being abandoned. 
O-Go sat up, as Uncle Castor had done when 
on guard, and sniffed the air; but he could 
make nothing of the many odors that came 
to his nostrils. He listened. All that he heard 
was the rustle of the grasses and the gentle rip¬ 
pling of the water, as the night breeze passed 
by. Again he listened. He could hear faintly 
the soft, slapping noise of the lily pads, as the 
wavelets caressed them. But what was that 
queer sound in the bushes behind him? 
It was only the faint twittering of some 
small bird, disturbed in its slumber, or per¬ 
haps dreaming. But O-Go’s heart was tuned 
to fear, and it beat furiously at that terrible 
39 
