ut one
must do a good turn to one's friends when one can.

And at last he gave up catching even the flies; for he made acquaintance
with one by accident and found him a very merry little fellow. And this
was the way it happened; and it is all quite true.

He was basking at the top of the water one hot day in July, catching
duns and feeding the trout, when he saw a new sort, a dark grey little
fellow with a brown head. He was a very little fellow indeed: but he
made the most of himself, as people ought to do. He cocked up his head,
and he cocked up his wings, and he cocked up his tail, and he cocked up
the two whisks at his tail-end, and, in short, he looked the cockiest
little man of all little men. And so he proved to be; for instead of
getting away, he hopped upon Tom's finger, and sat there as bold as nine
tailors; and he cried out in the tiniest, shrillest, squeakiest little
voice you ever heard,

"Much obliged to you, indeed; but I don't want it yet."

"Want what?" said Tom, quite taken aback by his impudence.

"Your leg, which you are kind enough to hold out for me to sit on. I
must just go and see after my wife for a few minutes. Dear me! what a
troublesome business a family is!" (though the idle little rogue did
nothing at all, but left his poor wife to lay all the eggs by herself).
"When I come back, I shall be glad of it, if you'll be so good as to
keep it sticking out just so"; and off he flew.

Tom thought him a very cool sort of personage; and still more so, when,
in five minutes he came back, and said--"Ah, you were tired waiting?
Well, your other leg will do as well."

And he popped himself down on Tom's knee, and began chatting away in his
squeaking voice.

"So you live under the water? It's a low place. I lived there for some
time; and was very shabby and dirty. But I didn't choose that that
should last. So I turned respectable, and came up to the top, and put on
this grey suit. It's a very business-like suit, you think, don't you?"

"Very neat and quiet indeed," said Tom.

"Yes, one must be quiet and neat and respectable, and all that sort of
thing for a little, when one becomes a family man. But I'm tired of it,
that's the truth. I've done quite enough business, I consider, in the
last week, to last me my life. So I shall put on a ball-dress, and go
out and be a smart man, and see the gay world, and have a dance or two.
Why shouldn't one be jolly if one can?"

"And what will become of you