ibut, they seemed.
He had had no idea that there were fresh-water fish of that size.

They towered above him more like men-o'-war than fish, and he was
rather glad to get past them. There were numbers of smaller fishes, some
about his own size, he thought. They seemed to be enjoying themselves
extremely, and he admired the clever quickness with which they darted
out of the way of the great hulking fish.

And then suddenly he ran into something hard and very solid, and a voice
above him said crossly:

'Now then, who are you a-shoving of? Can't you keep your eyes open, and
keep your nose out of gentlemen's shirt fronts?'

'I beg your pardon,' said Kenneth, trying to rub his nose, and not being
able to. 'I didn't know people could talk under water,' he added very
much astonished to find that talking under water was as easy to him as
swimming there.

'Fish can talk under water, of course,' said the voice, 'if they didn't,
they'd never talk at all: they certainly can't talk _out_ of it.'

'But I'm not a fish,' said Kenneth, and felt himself grin at the absurd
idea.

'Yes, you are,' said the voice, 'of course you're a fish,' and Kenneth,
with a shiver of certainty, felt that the voice spoke the truth. He
_was_ a fish. He must have become a fish at the very moment when he fell
into the water. That accounted for his not being able to see his hands
or feel his feet. Because of course his hands were fins and his feet
were a tail.

'Who are you?' he asked the voice, and his own voice trembled.

'I'm the Doyen Carp,' said the voice. 'You must be a very new fish
indeed or you'd know that. Come up, and let's have a look at you.'

Kenneth came up and found himself face to face with an enormous fish who
had round staring eyes and a mouth that opened and shut continually. It
opened square like a kit-bag, and it shut with an extremely sour and
severe expression like that of an offended rhinoceros.

'Yes,' said the Carp, 'you _are_ a new fish. Who put you in?'

'I fell in,' said Kenneth, 'out of the boat, but I'm not a fish at all,
really I'm not. I'm a boy, but I don't suppose you'll believe me.'

'Why shouldn't I believe you?' asked the Carp wagging a slow fin.
'Nobody tells untruths under water.'

And if you come to think of it, no one ever does.

'Tell me your true story,' said the Carp very lazily. And Kenneth told
it.

'Ah! these humans!' said the Carp when he had done. 'Always in such a
hurry to think the worst