Chimney sweeps -- Juvenile fiction; Fairy tales -- England
He looked up the water, and there he saw a sight as strange as the
noise; a great ball rolling over and over down the stream, seeming one
moment of soft brown fur, and the next of shining glass: and yet it was
not a ball; for sometimes it broke up and streamed away in pieces, and
then it joined again; and all the while the noise came out of it louder
and louder.
Tom asked the dragon-fly what it could be: but, of course, with his
short sight, he could not even see it, though it was not ten yards away.
So he took the neatest little header into the water, and started off to
see for himself; and, when he came near, the ball turned out to be four
or five beautiful creatures, many times larger than Tom, who were
swimming about, and rolling, and diving, and twisting, and wrestling,
and cuddling, and kissing, and biting, and scratching, in the most
charming fashion that ever was seen. And if you don't believe me, you
may go to the Zoological Gardens (for I am afraid that you won't see it
nearer, unless, perhaps, you get up at five in the morning, and go down
to Cordery's Moor, and watch by the great withy pollard which hangs over
the backwater, where the otters breed sometimes), and then say, if
otters at play in the water are not the merriest, lithest, gracefullest
creatures you ever saw.
But, when the biggest of them saw Tom, she darted out from the rest, and
cried in the water-language sharply enough, "Quick, children, here is
something to eat, indeed!" and came at poor Tom, showing such a wicked
pair of eyes, and such a set of sharp teeth in a grinning mouth, that
Tom, who had thought her very handsome, said to himself, _Handsome is
that handsome does_, and slipped in between the water-lily roots as fast
as he could, and then turned round and made faces at her.
"Come out," said the wicked old otter, "or it will be worse for you."
But Tom looked at her from between two thick roots, and shook them with
all his might, making horrible faces all the while, just as he used to
grin through the railings at the old women, when he lived before. It was
not quite well bred, no doubt; but you know, Tom had not finished his
education yet.
"Come away, children," said the otter in disgust, "it is not worth
eating, after all. It is only a nasty eft, which nothing eats, not even
those vulgar pike in the pond."
"I am not an eft!" said Tom; "efts have tails."
"You are an eft," said the otter, very positively; "I see your two hands
quite plain, and I know you have a tail."
"I tell you I have not," said Tom. "Look here!" and he turned his pretty
little self quite round; and, sure enough, he had no more tail than you.
The otter might have got out of it by saying that Tom was a frog: but,
like a great many other people, when she had once said a thing, she
stood to it, right or wrong; so she answered:
[Illustration]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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