if there are things you would find out

just use your eyes and look about.

               little joe otter.

no one had ever heard of a mrs. joe otter, yet if there wasn’t a mrs. joe how was it that grandfather frog and peter rabbit and jerry muskrat, all three, had seemed to see two little brown heads where the laughing brook comes into the smiling pool. for a while they talked it over between themselves. each was sure that he had seen two. it was only for a moment and then there was nothing to be seen. it was all very mysterious.

“there must be something the matter with our eyes,” declared jerry. “little joe is such an uneasy fellow that he never would be content to settle down with a home of his own. besides, wherever would he have found mrs. joe, if there is one?”

“i don’t know, but i’m going to find out,” said peter, hopping up. “i’m going to go right straight up the laughing brook and look for his home. if he’s got one, i don’t believe he can hide it from me.” with this off started peter, lipperty-lipperty-lip.

“good luck to you, peter. if you find anything come back and tell us,” shouted jerry muskrat.

up the laughing brook went peter. now he had no more idea than the man in the moon what kind of a home little joe otter would be likely to have. he knew that jerry muskrat has two kinds of homes—one a hole in a bank, and the other a house in the smiling pool. he knew that paddy the beaver builds the same kinds of homes, only better. he knew that billy mink sometimes makes his home in a hollow log and sometimes under an old pile of brush and sometimes in a hole under a stump. billy is not particular as to where his home is. but peter didn’t know where to look for little joe’s home.

“he lives in the water even more than billy mink does, almost as much as jerry muskrat does, so i guess he probably has a home right close to the water,” said peter. then another thought struck him. he remembered that jerry muskrat makes his entrance to his home in the bank under water where it cannot be seen from the shore. if little joe were to do the same thing, he, peter, might just as well look for a needle in a haystack. however, peter is not easily discouraged. he hopped along, up one bank of the laughing brook, looking and looking for holes. every hole he came to he examined with the greatest care. he sniffed and sniffed at each one, hoping to get a whiff of little joe otter. when he had gone a long way up the laughing brook he crossed it on an old log and went back down the other side, looking and looking just the same.

but with all peter’s looking, he didn’t find a thing. more than this, he saw no signs that little joe otter had been up the laughing brook for a long time. he was just about to give up, discouraged, when in a deep little pool he heard a splash. he turned quickly. he was just in time to see little joe otter swimming away with a fish in his mouth.

“hi, little joe!” he called. “are you living up this way?”

little joe grinned in spite of the fish in his mouth. “certainly i am,” said little joe. “come call on me and meet mrs. joe.”

with that little joe suddenly disappeared under water, and though peter sat for a long, long time watching, he saw nothing more of little joe.

“now however am i going to make a call when i don’t know where to call?” muttered peter, as he started for the dear old briar-patch. “anyway, i have found out that there is a mrs. joe!” he added triumphantly.