Now a beaver must have air, and there was no air there and no way of getting any. Up above on the ice an Indian squatted. He knew just what was happening down below and he grinned. Beside him lay the two beavers who had preceded Tommy, drowned. Now Tommy was drowning. His lungs felt as if they would burst. Dully he realized that this was the end. As long as he could, he held his breath and then--Tommy came to himself with a frightened jump. He was sitting on the old wishing-stone, and before him stretched the Green Meadows, joyous with happy life. He wasn’t a beaver at all, but he knew that he had been a beaver, that he had lived the life of Paddy the Beaver. He could remember every detail of it, and he shuddered as he thought of those last dreadful minutes at the food-pile when he had felt himself drowning helplessly. Then the wonder of what he had learned grew upon him. “Why,” he exclaimed, “a beaver is an engineer, a lumberman, a dredger, a builder, and a mason! He’s wonderful. He’s the most wonderful animal in all the world!” His face clouded. “Why can’t people leave him alone?” he exploded. “A man that will trap and kill one of those little chaps is worse than a lynx or a wolf. Yes, sir, that’s what he is! Those creatures kill to eat, but man kills just for the few dollars Paddy’s fur coat will bring. When I grow up, I’m going to do something to stop trapping and killing. Yes, sir, that’s what I’m going to do!” Tommy got up and stretched. Then he started for home, and there was a thoughtful look on his freckled face. “Gee!” he exclaimed, “I’ve learned a pile this time. I didn’t know there was so much pleasure in just work before. I guess I won’t complain any more over what I have to do. I--I’m mighty glad I was a beaver for a little while, just for that.” And then, whistling, Tommy headed straight for the wood-pile and his ax. He had work to do, and he was glad of it. CHAPTER THREE WHY TOMMY TOOK UP ALL HIS TRAPS If there was one thing that Tommy enjoyed above another, it was trapping. There were several reasons why he enjoyed it. In the first place, it took him out of doors with something definite to do. He loved the meadows and the woods and the pastures, and all the beauties of them with which Old Mother Nature is so lavish. He loved to tramp along the Laughing Brook and around the Smiling Pool. Always, no matter what the time of the year, there was something interesting to see. Now it was a flower new to him, or a bird that he had not seen before. Again it was a fleeting glimpse of one of the shy, fleet-footed little people who wear coats of fur. He liked these best of all because they were the hardest to surprise and study in their home life. And that was one reason why he enjoyed trapping so much. It was matching his wits against their wits. And one other reason was the money which he got for the pelts.