"Your husband has come round to my views long ago," said the eel. "I can see that plainly. He would give anything to be able to roam about as a free bird, instead of wearing himself out with a big family."
"You're quite mistaken, my good fellow," said the reed-warbler. "I certainly admit ..."
"You'd better mind what you're admitting!" screamed his wife and pecked at him.
"Wriggle and twist!" said the eel; and off he went.
That afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Reed-Warbler sat discussing the question again:
"If only we can hold out," said he. "Just now, I was fighting like mad with my old friend, the flycatcher, for a ridiculous little grub. I got it, but he will never forgive me. When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window, as the human beings say. It will end in screaming and quarrelling all over the pond."
"It cannot be worse than it is," said she. "Do as I do and think of all the beautiful things the poets have sung about us. It always helps to keep one's spirits up."
"I wish I had a couple of nice little poets here to feed the children with," said he, grumpily.
They sat again for a while, plunged in gloomy thoughts. The young ones were having their mid-day nap. Then he said: