"Thank goodness, then, that I am of lowly station," said the eel. "I have a capital time in the mud." "Then, again, one is interested in preserving a certain amount of poetry in the world. There is plenty of rabble, plenty of ugliness, I admit. All the more reason why we higher animals should do something to promote the ideal. And I can't imagine anything more ideal than a father's labours on behalf of his family, even though they do become rather fatiguing at times." "You're tremendously up in the clouds to-day, Mr. Reed-Warbler," said the eel. "Every one to his taste. But, as for poetry, I must confess that I have not seen much of it in my life. And yet I have wriggled and twisted about the world a good deal. The great question, everywhere, is eating and eating and eating. And those who have children to care for are the worst robbers of the lot. Good-bye." "That's a disgusting fellow," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "It was very nice of you to give him a piece of your mind. I quite agree with you. Besides, I myself performed a really fine action to-day." She ran to the reed and looked into the water: "Are you there, my little grub?" she asked. "Yes, thank you," said the May-fly grub. "And how are you?" "Fairly. The eel almost caught sight of me; and I was nearly getting into the bladder-wort's prison; and the water-spider was after me before that. Otherwise, I'm all right." "What's this now?" asked the reed-warbler. "Oh," answered his wife, "it's a protegée of mine! A little May-fly grub. I promised that I wouldn't eat her. She is so happy at the thought of being grown-up ... and that only for a couple of hours, poor little thing!" She said nothing about her intention of eating the grub when she was grown up; and the reed-warbler was seriously angry. "What sentimental gammon!" he said. "It's unseemly for a woman with five children to commit such follies." "I thought it so poetic to give her leave to live," said she. "Fiddlesticks!" said her husband. "Poetry doesn't apply to one's food. If it did, we should all die of hunger. Besides you can't take a creature like that into consideration." Thereupon he ran down the reed and hunted eagerly for the grub, to eat her. But she heard what he said and had gone down to the bottom with terror in her little heart. CHAPTER VII The Carp [Illustration] The summer wore on and things grew worse and worse. No end of young had come out of the eggs and they filled the whole pond. Out in the middle it was quite green with millions of little water-weeds, which died and rotted and reeked till seven big perch died of it and floated on their backs. "The pond's blossoming!" sneered the rushes. "There's a horrid smell here," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "I think, considering all things, that it's delightful here," said the carp.