's side.

"At this the old whale seemed to lose her wits. Still clutching the
terrified calf under one flipper, she stood straight on her head, so
that the head and half her body were below the surface, and fell to
lashing the water all around her with ponderous, deafening blows of her
tail. The huge concussions drove the swordfish from the surface, and
for a minute or two he swam around her in a wide circle, about twenty
feet down, trying to get the hang of these queer tactics. Then, swift
and smooth as a shadow, he shot in diagonally, well below the range of
those crashing strokes. His sword went clean through the body of the
calf, through its heart, killing it instantly, and at the same time
forcing it from its mother's hold. The lifeless but still quivering
form fixed thus firmly on his sword, he darted away with it, and was
instantly lost to view beyond the dense, churned hosts of the pink
shrimps.

"For perhaps a minute the mother, as if bewildered by the violence of
her own exertions, seemed quite unaware of what had happened. At
length she stopped lashing the water, came slowly to the surface stared
about her in a dazed way, and once more bellowed forth her terrible
booming cry. Once more the seabirds sprang terrified to the upper air,
and the old white bear on the far-off shore lifted his head once more
to listen nervously."

"And she never saw her baby any more," murmured the Babe mournfully.

Uncle Andy snorted, disdaining to answer such a remark.

"Oh, I wish somebody would do something to that swordfish," continued
the Babe. And he wiped a tear from his nose.

CHAPTER VI

TEDDY BEAR'S BEE TREE

They were exploring the high slopes of the farther shore of
Silverwater. It had been an unusually long trip for the Babe's short
legs, and Uncle Andy had considerately called a halt, on the pretext
that it was time for a smoke. He knew that the Babe would trudge on
till he dropped in his tracks before acknowledging that he was tired.
A mossy boulder under the ethereal green shade of a silver birch
offered the kind of resting place--comfortable yet unkempt--which
appealed to Uncle Andy's taste; and there below, over a succession of
three low, wooded ridges, lay outspread the enchanting mirror of the
lake. Uncle Andy's pipe never tasted so good to him as when he could
smoke it to the accompaniment of a wide and eye-filling view.

The Babe, who had squatted himself cross-legged on the turf at