as I'm doing now. Trust me for that."

"Unless they come and clean out the pond first," said the water-lily.
"For then they'll take you and leave me here because of my beauty."

The spear-wort could say nothing to this, for it was true.

"Did you hear?" whispered Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"Hush," answered the reed-warbler. "Here comes a bumble-bee."

And a big, buzzing bumble-bee came and whirred upon her wings and hung
for a while in the air, above the two flowers.

"This way, please, dear Bumble-Bee!" cried the water-lily and displayed
her white petals to the best advantage. "I keep the freshest honey in
the whole district. Pray come nearer. I have combs and combs full. And
here is pollen in fancy wrappers. And I have laid out my broad green
leaves on the water for you to rest on, if you are tired. See for
yourself ... it is quite dry here ... pray ..."

"Don't mind that humbug," said the spear-wort. "This is the real old
shop for honey. I scorn to advertise in that silly way, with big white
petals and all that pretence. I put all I know into my honey and my
pollen. I only have a little white flower for you to know me by."

"You must on no account be seen going into that common shop," screamed
the water-lily. "Your honoured children will simply be poisoned by the
stuff she keeps. If indeed she has any, for there were two big
bumble-bees with her this morning and they looked very dissatisfied when
they flew away."

"Don't you believe her," cried the spear-wort. "It's sheer jealousy
makes her talk like that. The bumble-bees were exceedingly pleased and
they have produced a quantity of honey. Mother Water-Lily's is
yesterday's. No one will have anything to say to it; I swear it's all
spoilt."

[Illustration: THE WATER LILY]

"Buzz ... buzz ...!" said the bee and flew away.

"You humbug!" said the water-lily.

"You idiot!" said the spear-wort.

"That's the worst of keeping bad company," said the water-lily.

"It comes of your mountebank ways, of course," said the spear-wort.
"They're enough to drive respectable people from the pond."

They could think of nothing more to say and lay on the water and looked
angrily at each other.

"Oh dear!" said little Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "Where on earth is one to go
to find poetry?"

"Where can one find a fly?" said her husband.

"We must take life as it is," said the mussel, "and meddle with it as
little as possible. That's what I do; and there's nothing to prevent my
r