"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.