Next a rock-fish arrived and smelt at the candlesticks, which had not yet come off. Tiny bits of candle ends were still sticking in the sockets. “That’s something to eat,” it said, “if only it weren’t for the whipcord!”
Then a great bass came and lay flat on the pedal; but immediately there arose such a rumbling in the box that all the fishes hastily swam away.
They got no further on that day.
At night it blew half a gale, and the musical box went thump, thump, thump, like a pavier’s beetle, until sunrise. When the eel-mother and all the rest of them returned, they found that it had undergone a change.
The lid stood open like a shark’s mouth; they saw a row of teeth, bigger than they had ever seen before, but every other tooth was black. The whole machine was swollen at the sides like a seed-fish; the boards were bent, and the pedal pointed upwards like a foot in the act of walking; the arms of the candlesticks looked like clenched fists. It was a dreadful sight!
“It’s falling to pieces,” screamed the bass, and spread out a fin, ready to turn.
And now the boards fell off, the box was open, and one could see what it was like inside; and that was the prettiest sight of all.
“It’s a trap! Don’t go too near!” said the eel-mother.
“It’s a hand-loom!” said the stickleback, who builds a nest for itself and understands the art of weaving.
“It’s a gravel-sifter,” said a red-eye, who lived below the lime-quarry.