And there they were all three in the pot, rolling over and over, and very tight packing it was.  And the lobster tore at the otter, and the otter tore at the lobster, and both squeezed and thumped poor Tom till he had no breath left in his body; and I don’t know what would have happened to him if he had not at last got on the otter’s back, and safe out of the hole.

He was right glad when he got out, but he would not desert his friend who had saved him; and the first time he saw his tail uppermost he caught hold of it, and pulled with all his might.

But the lobster would not let go.

“Come along,” said Tom; “don’t you see she is dead?” And so she was, quite drowned and dead.

And that was the end of the wicked otter.

But the lobster would not let go.

“Come along, you stupid old stick-in-the-mud,” cried Tom, “or the fisherman will catch you!” And that was true, for Tom felt some one above beginning to haul up the pot.

But the lobster would not let go.

Tom saw the fisherman haul him up to the boat side, and thought it was all up with him.  But when Mr. Lobster saw the fisherman, he gave such a furious and tremendous snap, that he snapped out of his hand, and out of the pot, and safe into the sea.  But he left his knobbed claw behind him; for it never came into his stupid head to let go after all, so he just shook his claw off as the easier method.

Tom asked the lobster why he never thought of letting go.  He said very determinedly that it was a point of honour among lobsters.

And now happened to Tom a most wonderful thing; for he had not left the lobster five minutes before he came upon a water baby.

A real, live water baby, sitting on the white sand, very busy about a little point of rock.  And when it saw Tom it looked up for a moment and then cried, “Why, you are not one of us.  You are a new baby!  Oh, how delightful!”

And it ran to Tom, and Tom ran to it, and they hugged and kissed each other for ever so long, they did not know why.  But they did not want any introductions there under the water.

At last Tom said, “Oh, where have you been all this while?  I have been looking for you so long, and I have been so lonely.”

“We have been here for days and days.  There are hundreds of us about the rocks.  How was it you did not see us, or hear us when we sing and romp every evening before we go home?”

Tom looked at the baby again, and then he said: 

“Well, this is wonderful!  I have seen things just like you again and again, but I thought you were shells, or sea creatures.  I never took you for water babies like myself.”

Now, was not that very odd?  So odd, indeed, that you will, no doubt, want to know how it happened, and why Tom could never find a water baby till after he had got the lobster out of the pot.  And, if you will read this story nine times over, and then think for yourself, you will find out why.  It is not good for little boys to be told everything, and never to be forced to use their own wits.