THE BABY AND THE BEAR A stiffish breeze was blowing over Silverwater.

Close inshore, where the Babe was fishing, the water was fairly calm--just sufficiently ruffled to keep the trout from distinguishing too clearly that small, intent figure at the edge of the raft.

But out in the middle of the lake the little whitecaps were chasing each other boisterously.
The raft was a tiny one, of four logs pinned together with two lengths of spruce pole.

It was made for just the use which the Babe was now putting it to.

A raft was so much more convenient than a boat or a canoe when the water was still and one had to make long, delicate casts in order to drop one's fly along the edges of the lily pods.