"Go on with your story," said the reed-warbler.
"I was born in another pond, far from here," said the mussel. "I can't give you a detailed description of it, because, as you will understand, one in my position does not have many opportunities of looking about him. It was not as grand as in the high-class carp-pond, that's sure enough. To be honest with you, I think it was much the same as here—an awful heap of rabble of every kind, but lots of mussels in particular. They sat in the mud as close as paving-stones and took the bread out of one another's mouths. If you had a mouthful of water, it was generally mere swipes. Some one else had sucked all the goodness out of it, you see."
"What did you do then?" asked the reed-warbler.
"I did nothing," replied the mussel. "I never do anything, except when any one sticks something between my shells. Then I become furious and I pinch.... Hullo, are you there again, Goody Cray-Fish? Do you want one of your little legs amputated, eh?"
"The wind-bag!" said the cray-fish.
"But you might have died of hunger," said the reed-warbler.
"One doesn't die so easily as that," replied the mussel. "Unless an accident befalls one, as in the case of our poor carp. In fact, I once lay for a whole year on a table in a room."
"Goodness gracious!" said the reed-warbler. "How did you get there?"
"I was fished up by a student or somebody. He wrapped me in a piece of paper and put me on the table. He wanted to see how long I could live. Every Saturday, he unpacked me and poured a little water over me; and that was enough to keep me alive."
"But how did you escape from him?"