“He was not more than twenty paces now from the place where the Water Babies were splashing and racing and squeaking, and having such a good time on the smooth, sunny water, under the blue, blue sky.  They were very happy.  Dagger Bill sank back into the deep water so noiselessly, you would have said it was a shadow sinking.  Then he rushed forward like a swordfish, down there in the brown glow, and darted up right into the game of tag.

“He had aimed his cruel thrust at the Water Baby who, at that particular moment, was IT.  But, in that same second, as luck would have it, IT caught the one he was pursuing, nipped his tail, and doubled back like lightning to escape getting nipped in return.  So, you see, Dagger Bill missed his aim.  That javelin of his beak just grazed the brown tip of IT’S nose, scaring him to death, but nothing more.”

“Ah-h!’ breathed the Babe, relieved in his feelings.

“In a wink, of course,” went on Uncle Andy, “all the Water Babies, with a wild slapping of tails on the water to warn each other, were scurrying desperately for the nest.  Some dived as deep as possible; but others lost their wits and swam on the surface.  A moment more, and Dagger Bill, who had sunk at once, darted up again, and this time his terrible beak pierced right through a little swimmer’s body, severing the backbone.”

“Oh-h-h!” murmured the Babe, drawing in his breath sharply.

“I can’t help it,” said Uncle Andy.  “But that’s the way things go.  Well, now, Dagger Bill rose right out on top of the water, as a bird should, and swam toward shore with the victim hanging limply from his beak.  But every old muskrat, along the bank or around the waterhouse, had seen and had understood.  Those folks that think muskrats and other wild creatures have sense, would have said it was all planned out ahead—­it happened so quick.  Every muskrat dived like a flash into the water and disappeared.

“Dagger Bill was coolly making for shore, not dreaming that anybody would dare interfere with him, when suddenly his black head went up in the air, his great beak opened with a hoarse squawk, and he dropped the dead Water Baby.  His dark wings flopped, and his tail was drawn under so violently that he nearly turned over backward.  It seemed to him that nothing less than the Great Sturgeon, which lived far down the river, must have grabbed him by the feet.”

“Wish it had been!” said the Babe.

“Just you wait!” said Uncle Andy.  “Well, the next minute he looked down, and, lo and behold! all the water underneath him was alive with swimming muskrats, darting up and closing in upon him.  Three or four already had their sharp teeth in his feet.  He was mad and frightened, I can tell you.

“He struggled and flopped, but his short wings could not raise him from the water with those weights fastened upon his feet.  Then his black head shot under, and he jabbed savagely this way and that, making dreadful wounds in those soft, furry bodies.  But the muskrats never heeded a wound.  They swarmed upon their enemy with a splendid, reckless rage. They’d teach him to stab Water Babies!