"Very likely," said the crab, in a cool tone, for he was accustomed to good society; "the whelk family do indeed put their work out of hand in a masterly way; in fact we generally employ them."
"What do they do for you?" asked the Child.
"They build very commodious little residences, quite suitable for people who travel as much as we do, and then leave them to us."
"You live in empty whelk shells, then!" said the Child.
"We migrate from one such residence to another," replied the crab. "When we outgrow one, we abandon it and hunt for another; and occasionally, when we find a convenient one still tenanted, and cannot make the creature within understand our wants, especially if he begins to talk any nonsense about the rights of property and the claims of labour, we turn him out."
"That is stealing," said the Child indignantly.
"Excuse me," said the crab, "we call it conquest. We are soldiers on our own account—free companions. But I must be on my travels again. To-morrow, if you will call, we shall no doubt be able to renew our acquaintance under more agreeable circumstances."
And the Soldier-crab withdrew his long legs from the pebble, and marched away with a braggadocio air among the sea-weeds.
"I do not call you a soldier," said the Child; "you fight for no one but yourself. I call you a housebreaker and a thief;" and he rose with a flushed face slowly, and went on his way, lost in thought until he reached the little beach at the foot of the rocks. The sea had retreated whilst he had been away, and the Child soon forgot his conversation with the crab in watching the waves, dipping his feet in one, and then running away from the next.
So he played until he was tired, and then looking round he saw a lump of jelly stranded just beyond the reach of the tide.