ay and almost
indestructible, were just such material as they loved to work with,
the ancient difficulty of making bricks without straw being well known
to them. Over a large portion of the pond the bottom was now clean
sand and mud, offering no obstacle to the transportation of cuttings
to the houses or the dam.

The beavers, moving hither and thither through this glimmering golden
underworld, swam with their powerful hind feet only, which drove them
through the water like wedges. Their little forefeet, with flexible,
almost handlike paws, were carried tucked up snugly under their chins,
while their huge, broad, flat, hairless tails stuck straight out
behind, ready to be used as a powerful screw in case of any sudden
need. Presently two of the swimmers, apparently by chance, came upon
the body of the beaver which the journeying otter had slain. They knew
that it was contrary to the laws of the clan that any dead thing
should be left in the pond to poison the waters in its decay. Without
ceremony or sentiment they proceeded to drag their late comrade toward
shore,--or rather to shove it ahead of them, only dragging when it got
stuck against some stone or root. At the very edge of the pond, where
the water was not more than eight or ten inches deep, they left it, to
be thrust out and far up the bank after nightfall. They knew that some
hungry night prowler would then take care of it for them.

Meanwhile an industriously inclined beaver had made his way to the
very head of the pond. Here he entered a little ditch or canal which
led off through a wild meadow in a perfectly straight line, toward a
wooded slope some fifty yards or so from the pond. This ditch, which
was perhaps two feet and a half deep and about the same in width,
looked as if it had been dug by the hand of man. The materials taken
from it had been thrown up along the brink, but not on one side only,
as the human ditch-digger does it. The beavers had thrown it out on
both sides. The ditch was of some age, however, so the wild grasses
and weeds had completely covered the two parallel ridges and now
leaned low over the water, partly hiding it. Under this screen the
beaver came to the surface, and swam noiselessly with his head well
up.

At the edge of the slope the canal turned sharply to the left, and ran
in a gradual curve, skirting the upland. Here it was a piece of new
work, raw and muddy, and the little ridges of fresh earth and roots
along its brink