"I was born in another pond," said the carp, "but I must confess that I have no distinct recollection of it. I only know that they did not lead such a wild, brigand's life there as here. For instance, I don't think there were any fish but carp in the pond, which, of course, improved the tone, you know. No doubt it was a nobleman's carp-pond. We were fed five times a day and everything was removed that could inconvenience us in any way. Until I came here, I had never set eyes on such things as pikes, water-spiders or that horrible bladder-wort." "It must have been idyllic there," said the reed-warbler. "May I ask, were there no reed-warblers?" "Oh, yes!" said the carp, "I think they had permission to build in the reeds. And then there were a good many frogs, probably to cheer us up with their croaking." "Then how did you come here?" "A-ah," said the carp, "that's not an easy question for me to answer. You see, we came in a basket, I and a large number of my friends. And then we were tilted out into the pond. I can't think of any other reason than that they wished to improve the tone here. We had nothing to complain of where we were before. Did you hear anything about well-bred people in this place expressing such a wish?" "No," said the reed-warbler. "It didn't happen in my time. But I have only been here since the spring." "Oh, I see," said the carp. "Yes, I've been here four years. I wish I were anywhere else. One lives in everlasting terror of the pike. A number of my friends have disappeared in an utterly incomprehensible manner and, I believe, saving your presence, that the pike has eaten them. And then, as you very properly observed, the prevailing tone here is rather ill-bred. But it doesn't matter much to you. I presume you go away in the autumn?" "A little trip to Italy," said the reed-warbler, "with my family." The carp waited and thought for a while. He yawned once or twice, then said: "You might be able to do me a service ... it occurred to me when I saw that nice, pointed beak of yours." "Delighted, I'm sure," said the reed-warbler. "You see, every one has his cross to bear and mine is in my gills. Would you care to see?..." He opened one of his gill-lids and the reed-warbler ran down the reed and peeped in: "Yes, upon my word," he said, "there's a cross there." "That's the double-animal," said the carp with a deep sigh. "The what?..."