"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."

"i was very angry with you," said mrs. reed-warbler. "but, since then, i have experienced such horrors that i've almost forgotten it. i have made the acquaintance of a spider who ate her own mother."

"oh dear, oh dear!" said the cray-fish. "that's enough to upset any mother."

"so it is. she also ate her husband."

"i don't say that's right," said the cray-fish. "but at any rate it's more excusable, for men are neither more nor less than monsters. oh, of course, i make an exception of your own husband, ma'am."

"is it true, goody cray-fish?" said mrs. reed-warbler—"tell me, did you really eat your children?"

"i had the misfortune to eat seven of them," replied the cray-fish, with a woebegone face. "but it was out of sheer love. they were so nice. and, as i was patting them with my claws, i happened to touch them too hard. so i had to eat them myself, rather than let them go to strangers."

"it's terrible to listen to," said mrs. reed-warbler.

"yes, it's sad," said the cray-fish. "but their troubles are over now, poor little dears, while their hundred and ninety-three brothers and sisters have to go on struggling through this wicked world! goodness alone knows how many of them are still alive and how they are doing!"

"yes, it's a wicked world," said mrs. reed-warbler.

"would you mind telling me, ma'am?" asked the cray-fish, "don't you think a body might get away from the pond?"

"we shall leave in the autumn," said mrs. reed-warbler, "for italy. but you have no wings, goody cray-fish, so i don't see how you can go."

"that's just it. if one had wings, one would soon be off. but they might be in one's way in the water. however, there are other people who travel, though they have no wings. what about the eel, ma'am, for instance?"

"yes ... the eel," said mrs. reed-warbler. "he can wriggle and twist. you can't, you see."

"no," replied the cray-fish looking very sadly out of her stalked eyes. "i can't do that at all. because of my stiff shirt, you know. though i may be thankful for it, too, or i should have been done for long ago."

"what do you propose, then?"

the cray-fish crawled right under the reeds, where the nest hung, and asked, in a low whisper:

"what do you think of the mussel, ma'am?"

"the mussel?"

"yes, the mussel. you see, i sit here in the mud and hear such a lot of things and turn them over in my mind. and i heard the story with which the mussel was diverting you and mr. reed-warbler the other day. do you think it's to be depended on?"

"of course i do."

"well, i don't take much account of the mussel," said the cray-fish. "a mollusc like that! and then he insulted me, besides. but i've eaten him now and i don't like to speak harm of what i've eaten myself. and, if the story is genuine, another person might possibly save herself in the same manner."

"why, you have no shells to pinch with, goody cray-fish!"

"no, but i have my claws," replied the cray-fish. "and, believe me, ma'am, they can pinch too."

the reed-warbler came home from hunting and his wife told him about the cray-fish's plan. they both laughed at it, but goody cray-fish stuck to her guns.

she did not go to her hole all the morning, but crawled around and swam on the surface of the water, to see if no opportunity offered.

about the middle of the day, a little roach came skimming along.

"look out, grub!" cried mrs. reed-warbler.

"i've hidden under a leaf and i'm all right," replied the may-fly grub.

"here's the roach," said the cray-fish. "now we only want the gull."

she kept just under the roach and looked out eagerly, in every direction, with her long eyes.

"what do you want, you ugly cray-fish?" said the roach, and struck out with his tail.

"i sha'n't hurt you, mr. fish," said she. "the pond is meant for everybody, i should think. surely a person's entitled to go and take the air outside her own door."

the eel put his head out of the mud:

"that's right, goody cray-fish, stick to it!" he said. "wriggle and twist!"

and the reed-warblers laughed and peeped down to see what on earth was going to come of it; and the youngsters were told as much of it as their little brains could take in, and they peeped too. the spider ran up and looked on, the may-fly grub was nearly jumping out of her cocoon with curiosity. the bladder-wort forgot to catch insects, the water-lily and the spear-wort stopped quarrelling; they all stared at the cray-fish and the roach. for they had all heard something of what was at hand, one from the other. but none of them said a word, lest they should frighten away the roach; he was the only one who had not the least suspicion. only the reeds whispered softly to one another. but this they always do, so nobody minds them.

just then a gull swooped down upon the roach.

it made such a splash in the water that no one could quite see what happened. but the roach was gone, and presently the reed-warblers exclaimed:

"look!... look!... there's the gull flying with the roach ... and the cray-fish is hanging on to his hind-toe!"

the water-lily and the spear-wort shouted the news and the rushes whispered it on and soon there was not a midge-grub in the pond but knew all about the extraordinary thing that had happened.

"so she had her way," said the reed-warblers.

and they discussed for quite an hour where she would be likely to arrive, but no one could work that out and none of those in the pond ever got to know.

only the woman who lived by the pond knew. for, when the gull came above the chimney of her little cottage, he gave such a kick with his leg that the cray-fish dropped off. she went right down the woman's chimney; and there stood a pot of boiling water, which she fell into.

"oh dear!" said the cray-fish. "that was a silly business."

it was so silly that she turned as red as fire all over her body and died then and there. but, when the woman took her pot and was going to make herself a drop of coffee, she stared in amazement at that fine big cray-fish:

"well, i never!" she said. "best thanks to whoever sent you."

then she ate her.

that same evening, the may-fly broke through her cocoon.

she flew up, on tiny little thin, transparent wings and with three long threads hanging from her abdomen to help her keep her balance.

"i say, isn't this lovely?" she cried. "how delicious life is! it's worth while living for ever so many days as a poor grub, if only one is permitted to gaze upon this splendour for an hour."

"oh, so you're there, are you?" said mrs. reed-warbler. "you look very nice."

"thank you," said the may-fly. "now i must just go round the pond and lay my eggs. then i'll come back and sit down in the reeds and die; and then you can eat me. and a thousand thanks to you for sparing my life that time and for warning me when i was in danger. if you hadn't done that, i should never have beheld this glorious sight."

"if only you don't over-eat yourself on the way and forget your promise!" said mrs. reed-warbler.

"there's no danger of that," replied the may-fly. "i have eaten all i need. i haven't even a mouth! i shall just enjoy an hour or two of this delightful life and then lay my eggs. that's my lot; and i don't complain."

"life is not so delightful as you think," said mrs. reed-warbler. "if i were a true friend to you, i would save you from seeing all your illusions shattered."

"how can you say that life is not delightful?" said the may-fly. "look ... and look ... and look...."

"i will be a true friend to you," said mrs. reed-warbler. "you shall be spared disappointment. i will eat you straight away."

then she caught her and ate her.

"good-evening, madam," said the eel. "are you sitting and contemplating the poetry of nature? i just saw you destroying a bit of it ... for the may-fly.... that's poetry, if you like! well, did she taste nice?"

"you're a horrid, vulgar fellow," said mrs. reed-warbler.

"you talk like one who is chock-full of poetry," retorted the eel. "i rejoice to see you making such smart progress as a murderess. you were shockingly squeamish at first!"