Not a bit of it. The net came in as heavy as if it were full of
fighting fish, but empty ----.

"Empty?" said Maroosia.

"Well, not quite empty," said old Peter, and went on with his tale.

Not quite empty, for when the last of the net came ashore there was
something glittering in it--a golden fish, not very big and not very
little, caught in the meshes. And it was this single golden fish which
had made the net so heavy.

The old fisherman took the golden fish in his hands.

"At least it will be enough for supper," said he.

But the golden fish lay still in his hands, and looked at him with
wise eyes, and spoke--yes, my dears, it spoke, just as if it were you
or I.

"Old man," says the fish, "do not kill me. I beg you throw me back
into the blue waters. Some day I may be able to be of use to you."

"What?" says the old fisherman; "and do you talk with a human voice?"

"I do," says the fish. "And my fish's heart feels pain like yours. It
would be as bitter to me to die as it would be to yourself."

"And is that so?" says the old fisherman. "Well, you shall not die
this time." And he threw the golden fish back into the sea.