Do you suppose that when shipmasters are shouting out orders to the
crew, and trying to keep their vessels from turning topsy-turvy or going
down out of sight, that the fishes are scampering about wild, driven
here and there by the fierce winds, and scared half to death by the fury
of the storm?

Do you suppose there is a terrible roar of wind and wave that bangs us
against each other at such times, and makes of the under-sea a raging
bedlam?

Oh, by no means! There is nothing of the kind down in what Folks call
"the lower ocean." It is calm and quiet as the surface of a pond on a
pleasant summer day.

And yet, if you wonder how I first learned about the lashing and the
thrashing of the waves above our heads when there is a storm, let me
tell about the time when I was a naughty, wilful fish, bound to have my
own way and do just as I pleased. It was when I was quite young, yet
pretty well grown. And this makes me wonder if growing little men-Folks
and women-Folks ever are determined to have their own way, no matter
what the mother may say.

I have an idea it is what is called the "smart age," when the young,
whether fish, flesh, or fowl, start up all at once, and think they know
more than--"than all the ancients." I heard that expression used once,
and it seemed somehow to fit in here.

Well, I was a young, big fellow, when one day I felt the will strong
within me to take leaps toward the upper sea. Now, I have already said