“Do you know this fellow has the impudence to pretend that they are undeveloped mermen, that they’ll be just like ourselves after a series of ages when their two legs grow into one, and that our ancestors were actually of the same type as those low creatures that go about in ships? But perhaps you agree with him, sir?” said the old professor, with a look that seemed to say that if he did he might expect to be annihilated on the spot. “Not I, sir. For aught I know we mermen may be undeveloped human beings. I’ve sometimes thought so, I have such a sort of longing for the land.” “How dare you—?” began the old gentleman in great indignation. “Come, come, grandfather,” said the young merman, smiling. “You are not angry with me I know; I presume you’ve felt just so yourself.” The professor was silent, and swam thoughtfully two or three times up and down the room. The two little kitten fish went and sat on his head. “I won’t say but I have,” he remarked at length, “but it’s best not to mention it. Where do you mean to go for your vacation?” “I thought I should go North along the coast,” said the young merman. “I can’t help having a curiosity about the land, and if I am in a way to observe any human creatures, I may pick up some facts to support your theory that they are undeveloped walruses.” “Any one can see that who has ever seen them floundering about in the water,” said the old professor, scornfully. “But the men drown and the walruses don’t.” “That’s because the men have not yet acquired the habit of not being drowned,” said the professor. “When are you going?” “To-morrow, I thought.” “Very well,” said the professor. “Swim away with you now, and tell the cook to feed these kittens; there they are nibbling the hair off my head.” The next day the young merman set off on his travels. He bade good-bye to no one but his grandfather and his two sisters. His best friend was away as bearer of despatches to the secretary of state. “I wish he wouldn’t go near the coast,” said the older sister, wistfully. “So do I,” said the younger; “I’m afraid for him. But, sister, now honestly, don’t you wish you could see a human creature near enough to speak to?” “No, not I,” said the elder, who had less of the family traits than any of her relations; “I wish you wouldn’t say such silly things.” Just as the young merman was going out of the front door, he met a huge lobster coming into it, and without ringing. The young merman felt that this was a liberty in the lobster, and was sure that his grandfather would not be pleased. “Hadn’t you better go round to the back door?” he said, quietly. Now the lobster was no less than the old Witch of the Sea in disguise. “Round to the back door indeed!” shrieked the lobster. “Do you know who I am, young man?” “I beg your pardon,” said the young merman; “I had no idea you were any one in particular. The servant will admit you if you wish to see the professor.”