to fire at it, which would not have been pleasant for the mayor:
but just then such a yell came out of a great hole in the middle of
it that the midshipman in charge guessed what it was, and bade pull
up to it as fast as they could. So somehow or other the Jack-tars
got the lobster out, and set the mayor free, and put him ashore at
the Barbican. He never went lobster-catching again; and we will
hope he put no more salt in the tobacco, not even to sell his
brother's beer.

And that is the story of the Mayor of Plymouth, which has two
advantages--first, that of being quite true; and second, that of
having (as folks say all good stories ought to have) no moral
whatsoever: no more, indeed, has any part of this book, because it
is a fairy tale, you know.

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."