The Pond

"Your presumption is absolutely correct," replied the carp, waving his fins complacently.

"You are quite right," said the mussel, yawning politely.

"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?.."

"The double-animal. Unfortunately, I have to admit that I brought him with me from the otherwise first-rate, high-class carp-pond which I was telling you about. The pain he caused me even then was great, but lately it has become almost unendurable. You must know, the animal consists originally of two worms … of the kind, you know, that don't care to work for themselves, but take up their quarters with respectable people and suck at them. I have a couple of dozen of those in my stomach, but they don't inconvenience me anything like so much as the double-animal. You see, to increase the meanness of the proceeding, these scoundrels have a trick of fastening together in pairs, cross-wise. They suck themselves firmly on to each other, until they grow into one, and then they suck at me with united strength."

"I never heard anything like it!" said the reed-warbler.

"I have one like it on the other side of my head, in my other gill," said the carp. "We can talk about him later. Meanwhile, may I ask you if you would kindly try to remove the brute with your beak? I should be exceedingly grateful to you. I am in such pain that I would rather die than go on living like this."

At that moment, it was as though the world were coming to an end.

The reed-bank heaved and swayed, the reeds snapped. The reed-warblers screamed, all the seven of them; the water spurted up; the mussel rolled over; the spider's parlour was smashed.

"At last!.. At last!.."

It was the pike's voice.

"Spare my life! Spare my life!" yelled the carp.

What happened next no one was ever able properly to describe.

The carp cracked and crunched between the pike's teeth, and all who were near thought their last day had come. But, a little after, it grew still and, when the reed-warblers had recovered themselves, the pike was gone, and the carp's tail-fin lay and floated on the water.

The reed-warblers' nest had dropped down on one side and they had to work for some time before they got it right. However, all the children were safe and sound and gradually they recovered from their alarm. The water grew clear again and the mussel sat down below and yawned.

"That was a noble character, that friend of yours who has been taken from us," said the reed-warbler.

"Yes," said the mussel. "For that matter, I have had experiences of my own…"

"We shall look forward to hearing your story to-morrow," said the reed-warbler. "We are too much upset to talk any more to-day."

Just then, the carp's tail sank to the bottom.

Goody Cray-Fish caught it and dragged it to her hole.

"Poor people must be content with crumbs from the rich man's table," said she.

CHAPTER VIII

The Mussel

The next evening, the reed-warbler peeped down into the water.

The fresh-water mussel was sitting there and yawning as usual. There was nothing out of the way about him.

"Good-evening," said the reed-warbler. "How are you, after your friend's unhappy end?"

"Thank you," replied the mussel. "It has not disturbed my composure in the least. Generally speaking, nothing disturbs my composure. Only, if any one sticks something between my shells, I become furious and I pinch."

"I should do the same in your place," said the reed-warbler. "And your equanimity is really quite enviable. But still I think that the misfortune of one's neighbour … of your intimate friend."

"I have no neighbour," said the mussel. "And the carp was not my intimate friend. We were not rivals, that is all. In a case like that, it's easy to be friends. I was often amused at the carp's way of talking. But I never contradict, except when any one sticks something between my shells. The carp had had to do with human beings; that's what it was. It always makes animals so ridiculous. You're the same, for that matter."

"I look upon that as a compliment," said the reed-warbler, who was a little offended but did not wish to show it. "However, I have nothing to do with human beings, except that they protect me and have not the heart to do me harm, because of my pretty voice. They stop and listen to me as they pass. Many a poet has written beautiful lines about me."

"Oh, really?" said the mussel. "Upon my word, they did something of the sort about me too. But what they said was lies."

"What did they say?"

"There was a lot of rubbish about pearls."

"Oh, have you pearls? Wife! Wife! The mussel has pearls!"

"Not a bit of it," said the fresh-water mussel. "Do stop shouting like that. You can be heard all over the pond. If any one overheard you, I should be in danger of being fished up. Thank goodness, there are no pearls formed on me!"

"O-oh!" said the reed-warbler, in a disappointed tone.

"It's just the pearls the poets talk their nonsense about. They sing of how happy the mussel is with the precious pearl he guards, and all that sort of thing… Do you know what a pearl is?"

"No," said the reed-warbler.

"It's a nasty, pushing parasite … something like the double-animal that hurt the carp. When it comes into us, it hurts us, of course. Then we cover the brute with mother of pearl till it dies. And then it sits on our shell and plays at being a pearl."

"Oh!" said the reed-warbler. "Do you hear that, wife? All our illusions are vanishing one by one. Soon there will be nothing but vacancy around us."

"Oh, it won't be vacant so long as we have those five greedy children!" said she. "They are crying for more."

"They shall have no more to-day," he answered, crossly. "You and I have been running and flying about for them all day long. Now, upon my word, I intend to be left in peace to have a chat with the neighbours. Let's give them a flogging."

And a flogging they got. And then they cried still more and then they went to sleep.

"You hinted last night that you were not born here, in the pond," said the reed-warbler. "Tell us where you come from."

"With pleasure," replied the mussel. "I am fond of a gossip in the evening myself. And no one will believe that I have had any experience, because I move about so little… But wait a bit. There's a saucy person there I want a word with…"

It was no other than Goody Cray-Fish.

She had crawled nearer and was fumbling at the mussel with her legs. Now he slammed his shell down upon one of them and cut it off in the middle. Goody screamed like one possessed and hammered away at the mussel with her claws, but he only laughed.

"What a common fellow!" cried Goody. "Can't he leave a respectable woman alone?"

"Aye," said the mussel, "when she doesn't go for me!"

"A wretched mussel like that!" she screamed. "A mollusc! He is much lower in rank than I and he dares to be impertinent. I have twenty-one pairs of legs and he knows it: how many has he?"

"Come along, with all the one-and-twenty!" said the mussel.

Goody went on scolding and then the reed-warbler interfered:

"Drop that strong language now," he said. "It doesn't matter about those legs. I have only two myself."

"I should be sorry to be found lacking in respect for you, Mr. Reed-Warbler," said the cray-fish. "I know who are my betters, right enough. But I can't understand how a fine gentleman like you can care to talk to one of those molluscs."

Scolding and grumbling, she withdrew to her hole, but left her head and claws hanging outside. The mussel opened his shell, but kept four or five of his eyes constantly fixed on Goody. These eyes were on the edge of the mantle which lay in the slit between the shells. As soon as the cray-fish made the slightest movement, he closed his shells at once:

"One's soft inside all right," he said. "But one shows the hard shell to the world."

"Go on with your story," said the reed-warbler.

"I was born in another pond, far from here," said the mussel. "I can't give you a detailed description of it, because, as you will understand, one in my position does not have many opportunities of looking about him. It was not as grand as in the high-class carp-pond, that's sure enough. To be honest with you, I think it was much the same as here – an awful heap of rabble of every kind, but lots of mussels in particular. They sat in the mud as close as paving-stones and took the bread out of one another's mouths. If you had a mouthful of water, it was generally mere swipes. Some one else had sucked all the goodness out of it, you see."

"What did you do then?" asked the reed-warbler.

"I did nothing," replied the mussel. "I never do anything, except when any one sticks something between my shells. Then I become furious and I pinch… Hullo, are you there again, Goody Cray-Fish? Do you want one of your little legs amputated, eh?"

"The wind-bag!" said the cray-fish.

"But you might have died of hunger," said the reed-warbler.

"One doesn't die so easily as that," replied the mussel. "Unless an accident befalls one, as in the case of our poor carp. In fact, I once lay for a whole year on a table in a room."

"Goodness gracious!" said the reed-warbler. "How did you get there?"

"I was fished up by a student or somebody. He wrapped me in a piece of paper and put me on the table. He wanted to see how long I could live. Every Saturday, he unpacked me and poured a little water over me; and that was enough to keep me alive."

"But how did you escape from him?"

"Well," said the mussel, "it was when he got engaged. People used to come and see him sometimes, you know, and, of course, they all had to look at the wonderful mussel that refused to die. There was a young girl among them who was very cross with him for teasing me so. But he only laughed at her. Well, when I had been there a year, he got engaged to her… They were sitting on the sofa just by me, when it happened, and I was not so dead but that I could lift my shells a little and see the whole thing: they're funny creatures, those human beings! Well, then he asked her if there was anything she would like on that joyful day. Yes, she would like me to be put back in the water again. He laughed at her. But off they went with me to the very pond where I was fished up and threw me in. Then I settled down among the other fellows and began all over again."

"Yes … love!" said the reed-warbler, looking round at his wife.

"Ah … love!" said she, returning his glance.

"I have nothing to say against it," said the mussel. "But, as a matter of fact, I have no personal experience of it."

"Surely you have a wife," said the reed-warbler. "Or, perhaps … perhaps you are a lady …?"

"I am neither one or the other. I am just a mussel. And I lay my eggs and then that's done!"

"Do you look after your children nicely?" asked the reed-warbler.

"What next!" exclaimed the mussel. "My children are very remarkable individuals. They are sailors."

"Sailors?"

"Yes, they are indeed. As soon as they come out of the egg, they hoist a great sail and put out. It's only when they grow older, if they haven't been eaten by that time, that they settle down as decent mussels with shells upon them and philosophy in their constitutions."

"Don't let us talk about children," said the reed-warbler. "It always upsets my wife so. Tell us now how you found your way to this pond."

"Ah," said the mussel, "that comes of a peculiarity I possess of becoming furious when any one sticks something between my shells. I don't know if I told you that I possess that peculiarity?"

"You've told me several times," answered the reed-warbler. "I shall never forget it; I shall take care, be sure of that."

"Mind you do," said the mussel. "You know, it was one of your sort that managed my removal."

"A reed-warbler?"

"I don't exactly know if it was a reed-warbler. I can't see very well outside the water… Good-day to you, good-day to you, Goody Cray-Fish! I can always see you!.. And to me one bird is much like another. However, it must have been a gull. Well, I was sitting at the bottom and yawning, as I usually do. Just above me was a little roach. Then, suddenly, splash came the gull and seized the roach. He swooped down at such a pace that he plumped right to the bottom. One of his little toes stuck between my shells and I pinched. The gull tugged and pulled, but I am strong when I become furious and I held tight. He was the stronger, in a way, nevertheless. For he pulled me off the bottom and then I went up through the water and into the air."

"Why, it's quite a fairy-tale!" said the reed-warbler.

"We flew a good distance," the mussel continued, "high above the fields and woods. I could just peep out, for my shells were ajar because of the bird's toe. We lost the fish on the way, but I held on, however much the gull might struggle and kick. Of course, I did not mean to hang on for ever, you know, but I wanted to have my say as to where we should alight. Suppose I had been dropped into a tall tree and had to hang there and wait until a student came and got engaged…"

"He would have come all right," said the reed-warbler. "I've travelled a great deal, but I have never been anywhere that there wasn't a student who got engaged."

"Well, in my case, it would have been rather uncertain," said the mussel. "And so, when I looked down and saw that there was blue underneath me, I let go and fell here, into the pond."

"And are you satisfied?"

"Yes, for the present. I have seen no other mussels, so it is a good deal pleasanter than in the other place."

"That's a curious story," said the reed-warbler.

Then he sat and fell a-thinking and night came.

But Mrs. Reed-Warbler ran down the reed and peered into the dark water:

"Are you there, my little grub?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," said the May-fly grub.

"Have you had a good time to-day?"

"Yes, thank you. I was only nearly eaten up by the perch; and then there was a duckling after me and a horrid dragon-fly grub and a water-beetle. Otherwise everything was very nice indeed."

CHAPTER IX

The Water-Lily

"Don't you think we shall be able to let the children out soon?" asked the reed-warbler.

"Certainly not!" said his wife. "There can be no question of the little dears standing on their legs for quite a month yet."

"They can stand on their legs as it is," said he, "for they nearly trample one another to death when I come along with a silly fly. I tell you, it's getting a bit difficult to provide food for everybody. There are such an awful lot of us after it now. There are children all over the neighbourhood and they are all crying out for food."

"Are you beginning to see the truth of what I said, madam?" asked the eel, sticking his head out of the mud.

"Hold your tongue and mind your own business, you ugly fish," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"Your husband has come round to my views long ago," said the eel. "I can see that plainly. He would give anything to be able to roam about as a free bird, instead of wearing himself out with a big family."

"You're quite mistaken, my good fellow," said the reed-warbler. "I certainly admit …"

"You'd better mind what you're admitting!" screamed his wife and pecked at him.

"Wriggle and twist!" said the eel; and off he went.

That afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Reed-Warbler sat discussing the question again:

"If only we can hold out," said he. "Just now, I was fighting like mad with my old friend, the flycatcher, for a ridiculous little grub. I got it, but he will never forgive me. When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window, as the human beings say. It will end in screaming and quarrelling all over the pond."

"It cannot be worse than it is," said she. "Do as I do and think of all the beautiful things the poets have sung about us. It always helps to keep one's spirits up."

"I wish I had a couple of nice little poets here to feed the children with," said he, grumpily.

They sat again for a while, plunged in gloomy thoughts. The young ones were having their mid-day nap. Then he said:

"Things are queerly divided in this world. The number of sorrows and cares that we have, we free birds, to whom the whole world is open! Look at the water-lily. She's bound to her place. She has to struggle up through the dark water for ever so many days before she reaches the surface. Then she's there and unfolds her white flower and is happy. She hasn't a care … look at her, lying and rocking and dreaming. I wish we were water-lilies!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "And her seeds ripen in her lap and then glide down in the water and take root and grow up and, next year, they blossom around her. Oh, how delightful it must be!"

"Yes, but think of the bladder-wort and how he took us in!" said he.

"Pooh!" she replied. "Of course, it was that horrid spider who lived with him that led him into evil courses. No one will make me believe that there is anything but peace and contentment in the water-lily's beautiful calyx."

"Hush!" he said. "She's talking to that pretty little spear-wort beside her."

The two anxious birds bent their heads and listened.

"You spiteful minx!" said the water-lily. "You enticed two bumble-bees away from me to-day, though you haven't a farthing's-worth of honey in your withered calices."

"Scold away!" said the spear-wort. "All your fine clothes won't help you in the least. Things go by merit, you see. No respectable bumble-bee will look at a frivolous person like you. And you may be sure that I have more honey in one of my flowers than you in your whole body."

"Here I stand with all my pollen ripe," said the water-lily, "and can't get rid of it. How can any one care to look at a beggar like you? But I shall find a way of revenging myself. You annoyed me long ago, when we were growing up through the water. Your nasty thin stalks swarmed over me and would have choked me, if they could. You, with your pretence! In the autumn, there won't be a particle of you left. It's too funny, that you should be allowed to stand in the way of respectable people."

"In the autumn, my seeds will be ripe and sown, Water-Lily dear," replied the spear-wort. "And, next spring, I shall grow up and tease you, just as I'm doing now. Trust me for that."

"Unless they come and clean out the pond first," said the water-lily. "For then they'll take you and leave me here because of my beauty."

The spear-wort could say nothing to this, for it was true.

"Did you hear?" whispered Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"Hush," answered the reed-warbler. "Here comes a bumble-bee."

And a big, buzzing bumble-bee came and whirred upon her wings and hung for a while in the air, above the two flowers.

"This way, please, dear Bumble-Bee!" cried the water-lily and displayed her white petals to the best advantage. "I keep the freshest honey in the whole district. Pray come nearer. I have combs and combs full. And here is pollen in fancy wrappers. And I have laid out my broad green leaves on the water for you to rest on, if you are tired. See for yourself … it is quite dry here … pray …"

"Don't mind that humbug," said the spear-wort. "This is the real old shop for honey. I scorn to advertise in that silly way, with big white petals and all that pretence. I put all I know into my honey and my pollen. I only have a little white flower for you to know me by."

"You must on no account be seen going into that common shop," screamed the water-lily. "Your honoured children will simply be poisoned by the stuff she keeps. If indeed she has any, for there were two big bumble-bees with her this morning and they looked very dissatisfied when they flew away."

"Don't you believe her," cried the spear-wort. "It's sheer jealousy makes her talk like that. The bumble-bees were exceedingly pleased and they have produced a quantity of honey. Mother Water-Lily's is yesterday's. No one will have anything to say to it; I swear it's all spoilt."

"Buzz … buzz …!" said the bee and flew away.

"You humbug!" said the water-lily.

"You idiot!" said the spear-wort.

"That's the worst of keeping bad company," said the water-lily.

"It comes of your mountebank ways, of course," said the spear-wort. "They're enough to drive respectable people from the pond."

They could think of nothing more to say and lay on the water and looked angrily at each other.

"Oh dear!" said little Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "Where on earth is one to go to find poetry?"

"Where can one find a fly?" said her husband.

"We must take life as it is," said the mussel, "and meddle with it as little as possible. That's what I do; and there's nothing to prevent my remaining here and growing to be a hundred."

A boy stood on the edge of the pond. He had a big stone in his hand. Suddenly, he flung it into the water with all his might. Then he went on and thought no more about it.

But the stone had hit the mussel and smashed him to pieces.

"There!" he said. "That's the end of me. Both shells smashed … there's nothing to be done. Good-bye and thank you for your pleasant company."

One by one all the eyes on his mantle grew dim; and then he was dead.

"Goodness knows who will be the next!" said the reed-warbler.

But Goody Cray-Fish came slowly crawling and took the dead mussel in her claws:

"Now I shall get my leg back with interest," said she.

CHAPTER X

The Cray-Fish's Journey

"How is my dear grub?" asked little Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"Pretty well, thanks," replied the May-fly grub. "There was a roach, who wanted to eat me; and two caddis-grubs, who tugged at me; and a whirligig, who bit me in one of my legs. Otherwise, I've had a capital time."

Aren't you almost ready?"

"To-day or to-morrow, I think."

"Take care you don't meet with an accident first," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler, kindly.

Goody Cray-Fish crept round restlessly:

"Food's scarce," she said. "Oh, if I were only a smart bird and could fly away! But, it's true, you're angry with me, ma'am, and I hardly dare speak to you."