"Well, _now_," protested Uncle Andy in an injured voice, "you _know_ I ain't like Bill and some other folk. I don't know everything. But I've every reason to believe that, with any kind of otter luck, they lived to grow up and have families of their own--and taught every one of them, you may be sure, to slide down hill. As likely as not, that very slide over yonder belongs to one of their families. Now come along and don't ask any more questions." CHAPTER II THE BLACK IMPS OF PINE-TOP "I think I'd _like_ to be a bird," murmured the Babe, wistfully gazing up at the dark green, feathery top of the great pine, certain of whose branches were tossing and waving excitedly against the blue, although there was not a breath of wind to ruffle the expanse of Silverwater. "I _think_ I'd like it--rather." He added the qualification as a prudent after-thought, lest Uncle Andy should think him foolish. "In _summer_!" suggested Uncle Andy, following the Babe's eyes toward the agitated pine-top. "Of _course_ in summer!" corrected the Babe hastily. "It must be awful to be a bird in winter!" And he shuddered. "You'd better not say 'of course' in that confident way," said Uncle Andy rather severely. "You know so many of the birds go away south in the winter; and they manage to have a pretty jolly time of it, I should think." For a moment the Babe looked abashed. Then his face brightened. "But then, it _is_ summer, for _them_, isn't it?" said he sweetly. Uncle Andy gave him a suspicious look, to see if he realized the success of his retort. "Had me there!" he thought to himself. But the Babe's face betrayed no sign of triumph, nothing but that eager appetite for information of which Uncle Andy so highly approved. "So it depends on what kind of a bird, eh, what?" said he, deftly turning the point. Then he scratched a sputtering sulphur match on the long-suffering leg of his trousers. "Yes," said the Babe, with more decision now. "I'd like to be a crow." Uncle Andy smoked meditatively for several minutes before replying, till the Babe began to grow less confident as to the wisdom of his choice. But as he gazed up at those green pine-tops, so clear against the blue, all astir with black wings and gay, excited _ca_-ings, he took courage again. Certainly _those_ crows, at least, were enjoying themselves immensely. And he had always had a longing to be able to play in the tops of the trees.