And the sea snails answered, “Whence we come we know not; and whither we are going, who can tell?  We float out our life in the mid-ocean, with the warm sunshine above our heads, and the warm gulf stream below; and that is enough for us.  Yes; perhaps we have seen the water babies.  We have seen many strange things as we sailed along.”  And they floated away, the happy, stupid things, and all went ashore upon the sands.

Then there came by a shoal of porpoises, rolling as they went—­papas, and mammas, and little children—­and all quite smooth and shiny, because the fairies French-polish them every morning; and they sighed so softly as they came by, that Tom took courage to speak to them; but all they answered was, “Hush, hush, hush;” for that was all they had learnt to say.

[Illustration:  Porpoises]

And then there came by a beautiful creature, like a ribbon of pure silver, with a sharp head and very long teeth; but it seemed very sick and sad.  Sometimes it rolled helpless on its side; and then it dashed away, glittering like white fire; and then it lay sick again, and motionless.

“Where do you come from?” asked Tom.  “And why are you so sick and sad?”

“I come from the warm Carolinas, and the sand-banks fringed with pines; where the great owl-rays leap and flap, like giant bats, upon the tide.  But I wandered north and north, upon the treacherous warm gulf stream, till I met with the cold icebergs, afloat in the mid-ocean.  So I got tangled among the icebergs, and chilled with the frozen breath.  But the water babies helped me from among them, and set me free again.  And now I am mending every day; but I am very sick and sad; and perhaps I shall never get home again to play with the owl-rays any more.”

“Oh!” cried Tom.  “And you have seen water babies!  Have you seen any near here?”

“Yes; they helped me again last night, or I should have been eaten by a great black porpoise.”

How vexatious!  The water babies close to him, and yet he could not find one.

And then he left the buoy, and used to go along the sands and round the rocks, and come out in the night—­like the forsaken Merman [Footnote:  This beautiful poem which Kingsley speaks of here is Matthew Arnold’s The Forsaken Merman, which you will find in Volume VII of these books.] in Mr. Arnold’s beautiful, beautiful poem, which you must learn by heart some day—­and sit upon a point of rock, among the shining sea weeds, in the low October tides, and cry and call for the water babies; but he never heard a voice call in return.  And at last, with his fretting and crying, he grew quite lean and thin.

But one day among the rocks he found a playfellow.  It was not a water baby, alas! but it was a lobster; and a very distinguished lobster he was; for he had live barnacles on his claws, which is a great mark of distinction in lobsterdom, and no more to be bought for money than a good conscience or the Victoria Cross. [Footnote:  The Victoria Cross is a decoration awarded British soldiers or sailors for distinguished bravery.  The crosses are made from cannon captured in the Crimean War, and bear, under the crowned lion which is the British royal crest, the words “For Valour”.  No other military decoration is so prized.]