"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?..."