"There's where you're wrong," shouted Li, from his basket, flopping
about with all his might, to attract attention, "I'm going to die of a
chill. Can't you recognise your old friend? Help me out of this trouble
and you may have all my money for your pains."

"Hey, what's that!" questioned Sing, attracted, as usual, by the word
money. "Shades of Confucius! It sounds as if the carp were talking."

"What, a talking fish," laughed Chang. "Why, master, I've lived nigh on
to sixty year, and such a fish has never come under my sight. There are
talking birds and talking beasts for that matter; but talking fish, who
ever heard of such a wonder? No, I think your ears must have deceived
you, but this carp will surely cause talk when I get him into the
kitchen. I'm sure the cook has never seen his like. Oh, master! I hope
you will be hungry when you sit down to this fish. What a pity Mr. Li
couldn't help you to devour it!"

"Help to devour myself, eh?" grumbled poor Li, now almost dead for lack
of water. "You must take me for a cannibal, or some other sort of
savage."

Old Chang had now gone round the house to the servants' quarters, and,
after calling out the cook, held up poor Li by the tail for the chef to
inspect.

With a mighty jerk Li tore himself away and fell at the feet of his
faithful cook. "Save me, save me!" he cried out in despair; "this
miserable Chang is deaf and doesn't know that I am Mr. Li, his master.
My fish voice is not strong enough for his hearing. Only take me back to
the pond and set me free. You shall have a pension for life, wear good