"You talk like one who is chock-full of poetry," retorted the eel. "I rejoice to see you making such smart progress as a murderess. You were shockingly squeamish at first!"
CHAPTER XI
The Worst Day of All
The summer was drawing to an end.
The beeches were quite yellow with the heat; and the pond was overgrown with plants almost right up to the middle. All the tadpoles had turned into frogs; all the young animals were growing and wanted more food. The water-lily and the spear-wort had stopped quarrelling, for they had nothing more to quarrel about. Both of them had lost their white blossoms and their heads were full of seeds.
The reed-warblers' children were now so big that they had begun to leave the nest and flutter about in the weeds. But they were not quite sure of themselves and still dangled after their parents. They never went so far away but that they could easily return to the nest; and they lay in it every evening and fought for room and bit and kicked one another, while their half-starved parents sat beside them and hushed them.
"Oh, mummy ... do get me that fly!" said one.