And meanwhile, my dear little man, till you know a great deal more
about nature than Professor Owen and Professor Huxley put together,
don't tell me about what cannot be, or fancy that anything is too
wonderful to be true. "We are fearfully and wonderfully made,"
said old David; and so we are; and so is everything around us, down
to the very deal table. Yes; much more fearfully and wonderfully
made, already, is the table, as it stands now, nothing but a piece
of dead deal wood, than if, as foxes say, and geese believe,
spirits could make it dance, or talk to you by rapping on it.

Am I in earnest? Oh dear no! Don't you know that this is a fairy
tale, and all fun and pretence; and that you are not to believe one
word of it, even if it is true?

But at all events, so it happened to Tom. And, therefore, the
keeper, and the groom, and Sir John made a great mistake, and were
very unhappy (Sir John at least) without any reason, when they
found a black thing in the water, and said it was Tom's body, and
that he had been drowned. They were utterly mistaken. Tom was
quite alive; and cleaner, and merrier, than he ever had been. The
fairies had washed him, you see, in the swift river, so thoroughly,
that not only his dirt, but his whole husk and shell had been
washed quite off him, and the pretty little real Tom was washed out
of the inside of it, and swam away, as a caddis does when its case
of stones and silk is bored through, and away it goes on its back,
paddling to the shore, there to split its skin, and fly away as a
caperer, on four fawn-coloured wings, with long legs and horns.
They are foolish fellows, the caperers, and fly into the candle at
night, if you leave the door open. We will hope Tom will be wiser,
now he has got safe out of his sooty old shell.