Part 10 (2/2)

Now little Ellie was, I suppose, a stupid little girl; for she only asked the same question over again.

”But why are there not water-babies?”

I trust and hope that it was because the professor trod at that moment on the edge of a very sharp mussel, and hurt one of his corns sadly, that he answered quite sharply, forgetting that he was a scientific man, and therefore ought to have known that he couldn't know; and that he was a logician, and therefore ought to have known that he could not prove a universal negative--I say, I trust and hope it was because the mussel hurt his corn, that the professor answered quite sharply:

”Because there ain't.”

Which was not even good English, my dear little boy; for, as you must know, the professor ought to have said, if he was so angry as to say anything of the kind--Because there are not: or are none: or are none of them; or because they do not exist.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _He felt the net very heavy; and lifted it out quickly, with Tom all entangled in the meshes_]

And he groped with his net under the weeds so violently, that, as it befell, he caught poor little Tom. He felt the net very heavy; and lifted it out quickly, with Tom all entangled in the meshes.

”Dear me!” he cried. ”What a large pink Holothurian; with hands, too! It must be connected with Synapta.”

And he took him out.

”It has actually eyes!” he cried. ”Why, it must be a Cephalopod! This is most extraordinary!”

”No, I ain't!” cried Tom, as loud as he could; for he did not like to be called bad names.

”It is a water-baby!” cried Ellie; and of course it was.

”Water-fiddlesticks, my dear!” said the professor; and he turned away sharply.

There was no denying it. It was a water-baby: and he had said a moment ago that there were none. What was he to do?

He would have liked, of course, to have taken Tom home in a bucket. He would not have put him in spirits. Of course not. He would have kept him alive, and petted him (for he was a very kind old gentleman), and written a book about him, and given him two long names, of which the first would have said a little about Tom, and the second all about himself.

There was a wise old heathen once, who said, ”Maxima debetur pueris reverentia”--The greatest reverence is due to children; that is, that grown people should never say or do anything wrong before children, lest they should set them a bad example.--But some people, and I am afraid the professor was one of them, interpret that in a strange, curious, one-sided, left-handed, topsy-turvy, inside-out-behind-before fas.h.i.+on; for they make it mean, that you must show your respect for children, by never confessing yourself in the wrong to them, even if you know that you are so, lest they should lose confidence in their elders.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Now, if the professor had said to Ellie, ”Yes, my darling, it is a water-baby, and a very wonderful thing it is; and it shows how little I know of the wonders of nature, in spite of forty years' honest labour. I was just telling you that there could be no such creatures; and, behold!

here is one come to confound my conceit and show me that Nature can do, and has done, beyond all that man's poor fancy can imagine. So, let us thank the Maker, and Inspirer, and Lord of Nature for all His wonderful and glorious works, and try and find out something about this one;”--I think that, if the professor had said that, little Ellie would have believed him more firmly, and respected him more deeply, and loved him better, than ever she had done before. But he was of a different opinion. He hesitated a moment. He longed to keep Tom, and yet he half wished he never had caught him; and at last he quite longed to get rid of him. So he turned away and poked Tom with his finger, for want of anything better to do; and said carelessly, ”My dear little maid, you must have dreamt of water-babies last night, your head is so full of them.” Now Tom had been in the most horrible and unspeakable fright all the while; and had kept as quiet as he could, though he was called a Holothurian and a Cephalopod; for it was fixed in his little head that if a man with clothes on caught him, he might put clothes on him too, and make a dirty black chimney-sweep of him again. But, when the professor poked him, it was more than he could bear; and, between fright and rage, he turned to bay as valiantly as a mouse in a corner, and bit the professor's finger till it bled.

”Oh! ah! yah!” cried he; and glad of an excuse to be rid of Tom, dropped him on to the seaweed, and thence he dived into the water and was gone in a moment.

”But it was a water-baby, and I heard it speak!” cried Ellie. ”Ah, it is gone!” And she jumped down off the rock to try and catch Tom before he slipped into the sea.

Too late! and what was worse, as she sprang down, she slipped, and fell some six feet with her head on a sharp rock, and lay quite still.

The professor picked her up, and tried to waken her, and called to her, and cried over her, for he loved her very much: but she would not waken at all. So he took her up in his arms and carried her to her governess, and they all went home; and little Ellie was put to bed, and lay there quite still; only now and then she woke up and called out about the water-baby: but no one knew what she meant, and the professor did not tell, for he was ashamed to tell.

And, after a week, one moonlight night, the fairies came flying in at the window and brought her such a pretty pair of wings that she could not help putting them on; and she flew with them out of the window, and over the land, and over the sea, and up through the clouds, and n.o.body heard or saw anything of her for a very long while.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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