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 father, Little Joe Otter, or her mother, had been close at hand. And of course, with father or mother near, there was never anything to be afraid of.

Now the lowest boughs of that little hemlock tree were bent to the ground by the snow on them. Under them it was dark. It was in this darkness that the little Otter had thought she saw something move. She kept her bright eyes fixed on it as she drew nearer. A few feet from it she stopped abruptly. In that darkness under the boughs of the little tree were two little spots of light. The young Otter stared and blinked and stared again. Gradually she made out a face. The two little