of his life in a house-boat. It's all the same, whatever he takes up;
he gets tired of it, and starts on something fresh.'

'Such a good fellow, too,' remarked the Otter reflectively: 'But no
stability--especially in a boat!'

From where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main stream across
the island that separated them; and just then a wager-boat flashed
into view, the rower--a short, stout figure--splashing badly and
rolling a good deal, but working his hardest. The Rat stood up and
hailed him, but Toad--for it was he--shook his head and settled
sternly to his work.

'He'll be out of the boat in a minute if he rolls like that,' said the
Rat, sitting down again.

'Of course he will,' chuckled the Otter. 'Did I ever tell you that
good story about Toad and the lock-keeper? It happened this way.
Toad. . . .'

An errant May-fly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in the
intoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of May-flies seeing life.
A swirl of water and a 'cloop!' and the May-fly was visible no more.

Neither was the Otter.

The Mole looked down. The voice was still in his ears, but the turf
whereon he had sprawled was clearly vacant. Not an Otter to be seen,
as far as the distant horizon.