black, and
there was a great roaring wind that lifted the white crests of the
waves and tossed them abroad over the waters. The golden fish came up
out of the storm and spoke out of the sea.

"What is it now?" says he, in a voice more terrible than the voice of
the storm itself.

"O fish," says the old man, trembling like a reed shaken by the storm,
"my old woman is worse than before. She is tired of being Tzaritza.
She wants to be the ruler of the seas, so that all the waters shall
obey her and all the fishes be her servants."

The golden fish said nothing, nothing at all. He turned over and went
down into the deep seas. And the wind from the sea was so strong that
the old man could hardly stand against it. For a long time he waited,
afraid to go home; but at last the storm calmed, and it grew towards
evening, and he hobbled back, thinking to creep in and hide amongst
the straw.

As he came near, he listened for the trumpets and the drums. He heard
nothing except the wind from the sea rustling the little leaves of
birch trees. He looked for the palace. It was gone, and where it had
been was a little tumbledown hut of earth and logs. It seemed to the
old fisherman that he knew the little hut, and he looked at it with
joy. And he went to the door of the hut, and there was sitting his old
woman in a ragged dress, cleaning out a saucepan, and singing in a
creaky old voice. And this time she was glad to see him, and they sat
down together on the bench and drank tea without sugar, because they
had not any money.

They began to live again as they used to live, and the old man grew
happier every day. He fished and fished, and many were the fish that
he caught, and of many kinds; but never again did he catch another
golden fish that could talk like a human being. I doubt whether he
would have said anything to his wife about it, even if he had caught
one every day.

* * * * *

"What a horrid old woman!" said Maroosia.

"I wonder the old fisherman forgave her," said Ivan.

"I think he might have beaten her a little," said Maroosia. "she
deserved it."

"Well," said old Peter, "supposing we could have everything we wanted
for the asking, I wonder how it would be. Perhaps God knew what He
was doing when He made those golden fishes rare."

"Are there really any of them?" asked Vanya.

"Well, there was once one, anyhow," said old Peter; and then he rolled
his nets neatly together, hung