It was good shooting, of course.

The two little ones, horrified by the spiteful noise, and quite unable to understand what had happened, shrank away into some thick bushes and lay very still, waiting for their mother to come and tell them the danger was past." "And she could never come!" murmured the Babe thoughtfully.
"Well, she didn't," snorted Uncle Andy, the discourager of sentiment.
Fairly reeking with sentiment himself, at heart, he disliked all manifestation of it in himself or others.

He liked it left to the imagination.

"They never stirred for an hour or more," he went on.
"Then at last they stole out and began looking everywhere for those lost parents.

All about the slide they hunted--among the bushes at the top, in the water and the rushes at the bottom--but they found nothing.
For the man had come in his canoe and carried off his victims.
"All day long the two Little Furry Ones continued their search.