CHAPTER VII
The Carp
The summer wore on and things grew worse and worse.
No end of young had come out of the eggs and they filled the whole pond. Out in the middle it was quite green with millions of little water-weeds, which died and rotted and reeked till seven big perch died of it and floated on their backs.
"The pond's blossoming!" sneered the rushes.
"There's a horrid smell here," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.
"I think, considering all things, that it's delightful here," said the carp.
The carp swam a little way in among the reeds. He had made a friend there, in the shape of the fresh-water mussel, who waded ever so slowly through the mud, or else settled on the bottom and yawned.
They suited each other, these two, for they were quiet and sedate people, who led the same sort of life.