But as the old proverb says, "What goes up, must come down," and in a few minutes he was on the ground again. This time he stood on the sandy beach of a great sea. "I wonder if I can jump all the way across," he said aloud. "Ask me not in mournful numbers What o'clock a boy has dreams; Sleep is real, sleep is earnest, Hash is seldom what it seems." And a great gray-bearded eel wagged his head solemnly at Billy from a few feet off the shore. "Did you speak?" said Billy. "No, I sang, which is worse," said the eel sadly. "I thought it was you." "It wasn't you, it was I," said the eel. "What a sad world it is, to be sure!" "How do you mean?" asked Billy. "I don't mean, I swim, and that's a terrible bore." "I think swimming is lots of fun," said Billy. "Not when you do it for a living; it stops being fun when you have to." "I suppose so," said Billy thoughtfully; "but then, you see, I've never had to do it for a living." "Then don't ever take it up. I've been at it all my life, and I'm very tired; why, I've almost forgotten how to climb trees. What's your name?" "Billy Bounce." "So you're Billy Bounce. I'm Ne'er Do Eel," and though he smiled, the eel looked very, very sly. "How do you do?" said Billy politely. "I don't do; that's the reason I'm called Ne'er Do Eel." "Oh!" said Billy, "then how don't you do?" "Pretty badly, I don't thank you. But come, you must hear me sing; this song was discomposed by the whistling Buoy, set to music by Sand Bars, and dedicated to me," and balancing himself on a large wave, the eel began to sing in a sad voice. THE SONG OF THE NE'ER DO EEL. The Ne'er Do Eel raised his dreamy eye And said, with a ponderous, weary sigh, I'd really, yes, really try to try, But I'm tired to-day--let's go and lie In the cool sweet shade of an apple pie, And think of the which and what and why. Oh! why is the whatness of which and when; If then were now what would be then? Because and but--oh! what's the use. "To-morrow will do," is my excuse. "How's that?" said Ne'er Do Eel when he had finished. "Very pretty," said Billy, "but is it--is it very sensible?" "I really don't know--nobody ever understands it, so of course it must be very fine." "I suppose so," said Billy, wondering if Ne'er Do Eel was quite in his right mind. "Come in, the water's fine," called a funny, bristly little fellow popping his head up beside Ne'er Do Eel. "No, thank you," said Billy, not wishing to join company with such a prickly looking individual. "Aw! come on--see, it's only so deep," and he held up one hand. "You're treading water," said Billy. "How did you guess it?" asked the Sea Urchin. "I can see your feet." "So can I see your feet, but you're not treading water." "That has nothing to do with it," said Billy. "Just what I'm trying to prove to you," said the Urchin. "Are you coming in, or shall I have to come out and get you?"