“But what’s a barracouta?” demanded the Babe hurriedly.

“Well, he’s just a fish!” said Uncle Andy.  “But he’s a very savage and hungry fish, some three or four feet long, with tremendous jaws like a pickerel’s.  And he lives only in the salt water, fortunately. He’s not a nice fellow, either, to have around when you’re swimming, I can tell you!”

“Why?” queried the Babe.

But Uncle Andy ignored the question firmly, and went on with his story.

“After this adventure Little Sword kept a very sharp look-out for the pallid, squirming tentacles, sometimes reaching out from a dark hole in the rocks or from under a mantle of seaweed, which he knew to belong to one of the Inkmakers.  He hated the whole tribe with bitter hatred; but at the same time his caution was unsleeping.  He bided his time for vengeance, and used his sword on crabs and flatfish and fat groupers.  And so he grew at a great rate, till in the swelling sense of his power and swiftness his caution began to fade away.  Even the incident itself faded from his memory, but not the hatred which had sprung from it, or the knowledge which it had taught him.

“When Little Sword was about five feet in length he carried a weapon on his snout not far from a foot long.  By this time he was a great rover, hunting in the deep seas or the inshore tides as the whim of the chase might lead him, and always spoiling for a fight.  He would jab his sword into the belly of a twenty-foot grampus just to relieve his feelings, and be off again before the outraged monster, bleeding through his six inches of blubber, had time to even make a pretense of charging him.  And he was already a terror to the seals, who, for all their speed and dexterity, could neither catch him nor escape him.

“But he was getting a little careless.  And one day, as he was sleeping, or basking, some ten feet below the surface, the broad, dark form of a sawfish arose beneath him and thrust at him with his dreadful saw.  The pleasant idea of the sawfish was to rip up the sleeper’s silver belly.  But Little Sword awoke in time to just escape the horrid attack.  He swept off in a short circle, came back with a lightning rush, and drove his sword full length into the stealthy enemy’s shoulder just behind the gills.  The great sawfish, heavy muscled and slow of movement, made no attempt to defend himself, but plunged suddenly downward into the gloomy depths where he loved to lie in wait.  After relieving his indignation by a couple more vicious thrusts.  Little Sword realized that he was too small to accomplish anything against this sneaking and prowling bulk, and shot off to look for a less dangerous basking place.

“It was soon after this close shave with the sawfish that Little Sword came once more across the path of the Inkmaker.  He—­”

But the Babe could contain himself no longer.  He had been bursting with questions for the last ten minutes, and had heroically restrained himself.  But this was too much for him.