Over at the damaged
house two beavers are up on the walls, raising the rafters into place;
a third appears to be laying on the outer covering and plastering it
with mud. Now and then one sits up straight like a rabbit, listens,
stretches his back to get the kinks out, then drops to his work again.
It is brighter now; moon and stars are glimmering in the pool. At the
dam the sound of falling water grows faint as the break is rapidly
closed. The houses loom larger. Over the dome of the one broken, the
dark outline of a beaver passes triumphantly. Quick work that. You
grow more interested; you stretch your neck to see--_splash_! A beaver
gliding past has seen you. As he dives he gives the water a sharp blow
with his broad tail, the danger signal of the beavers, and a startling
one in the dead stillness. There is a sound as of a stick being
plunged end first into the water; a few eddies go running about the
pool, breaking up the moon's reflection; then silence again, and the
lap of ripples on the shore.
You can go home now; you will see nothing more to-night. There's a
beaver over under the other bank, in the shadow where you cannot see
him, just his eyes and ears above water, watching you. He will not
stir; nor will another beaver come out till you go away. As you find
your canoe and paddle back to camp, a ripple made by a beaver's nose
follows silently in the shadow of the alders.
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