“Oh, Etty, here is a dear little fish; let us take it home and cook it for mother’s supper,” said a little voice.
The little voice belonged to a little girl who was talking to another little girl.
The Red Mullet trembled and grew pale. Enough to make it! Fancy hearing some one talking about eating one for supper.
“Oh, yes, do let’s,” said the other little girl, as they both peered into the pool. “Mother will be pleased; but how shall we carry it?”
“Oh, anyhow, pick it up in your fingers, Etty,” replied the first little girl.
The Red Mullet shivered, and quivered its tail, and turned even paler; it was losing its colour altogether, and that’s a serious matter for a Red Mullet!
“Well, I don’t know,” said Etty, thoughtfully, “poor little thing, perhaps it has a father and mother, and brothers and sisters in the sea, it seems a pity to eat it.”
The Red Mullet buried its nose in the sand, and blew little bubbles to the surface of the water. It was very much excited indeed!
“But it will die here I should think,” said the other little girl; “let us throw it into the sea so that it can go back to its father and mother, and brothers and sisters, if it likes. Pick it up, Etty, and throw it into the sea.”
Etty did not quite like touching the cold little fish, nevertheless she did, and threw it into the sea that came rippling up in tiny waves to her feet.