THE sunniest of days, the clearest and loveliest of blue seas, and I, a little lobster, young, proud, and as lively as a cricket—that is what people say; but I can’t help thinking “as lively as a shrimp” would sound better.

I always wear a lovely suit of armour, like those old warriors you read about. It is strong and firm and well jointed, so that I can move ever so fast—of course not so fast as that silly little fish.

He has armour too, he says, but wears it inside. That seems queer to me; I can’t quite believe it.

But I want to tell you what a queer thing happened to mine not long ago. It grew small and shabby, like your last year’s dress; that is why I have called this story “Old Clothes.”

Listen. I lived a very happy life out at sea for some time, till one day I fell into a strange basket-box thing.

There were several other lobsters and one or two crabs sitting there, looking anxious and disturbed. And I soon found out that they had need to feel so, for there was no exit. That means “way out” in plain words.

Our basket was joined to a strong rope, and that was attached to a cork floating on the top of the water.

Not long after I had fallen into this basket, which I now know was a lobster-trap, a boat rowed out from the shore, stopped just above us, and then we were lifted up, up, right out of the water, and placed in the boat.

The next thing was a good deal of pushing and knocking about, and then some one tossed me carelessly out on the beach, saying roughly, “Too small for any use.”

But some one else thought differently. Another hand touched me, and another voice said, “Just the thing for my aquarium.”

What that meant I could not even guess; but it turned out to be the tiniest sea in the world. Steady old limpets, red anemones, hermit crabs, and shrimps were all there.

It was a very nice home, with plenty of good food, the only drawback being want of space.

And now the event happened that I promised to tell you about.

My armour took to hurting me. You will hardly believe me. We all know that new clothes hurt sometimes, but old ones!

It grew tighter and tighter. I wriggled about, feeling miserable. Oh, if only I could get out of this!

At last I grew desperate. This choked, tight feeling was too much. I gave a tremendous struggle, and shook myself; crickle, crackle went my old armour, off it came, and out I stepped.

But, oh, so tender, and so nervous! The shrimps pranced round and knocked up against me, pricking and tormenting till I could have screamed.

I crept behind a stone and looked at my old armour half sadly. It looked just like old me, only so still, and rather as if I had been out in the rain all night and had shrunk.

Then I glanced at the new me. Well, I was a pretty fellow—not blue-black any longer, but a reddish pink of lovely hue.

Some one else took pride in my appearance, for I heard again a voice say, “Look at my lobster; he has cast his shell.”

I hadn’t, you know—it was the shell that had cast me; but these men can’t know everything.

The man touched me, but he hurt me almost as much as the shrimps, and I shrank farther still behind the stone out of his way. There I quietly lay for some days, till one morning, feeling braver and ever so much bigger, I stepped out for an early saunter.

That moment came a voice, “Oh, here is my lobster! How he has grown, more than half as big again!” Down came the hand as before; and just to show him I was also half as strong again, I gave him a nip.

He keeps his hands above water now, and me at arm’s length.