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Perhaps you think that fishes were always fishes, and never lived
anywhere except in the water, but if you went to Australia and
talked to the black people in the sandy desert in the centre of
the country, you would learn something quite different. They
would tell you that long, long ago you would have met fishes on
the land, wandering from place to place, and hunting all sorts of
animals, and if you consider how fishes are made, you will
understand how difficult this must have been and how clever they
were to do it. Indeed, so clever were they that they might have
been hunting still if a terrible thing had not happened.
One day the whole fish tribe came back very tired from a hunting
expedition, and looked about for a nice, cool spot in which to
pitch their camp. It was very hot, and they thought that they
could not find a more comfortable place than under the branches
of a large tree which grew by the bank of a river. So they made
their fire to cook some food, right on the edge of a steep bank,
which had a deep pool of water lying beneath it at the bottom.
While the food was cooking they all stretched themselves lazily
out under the tree, and were just dropping off to sleep when a
big black cloud which they had never noticed spread over the sun,
and heavy drops of rain began to fall, so that the fire was
almost put out, and that, you know, is a very serious thing in
savage countries where they have no matches, for it is very hard
to light it again. To make matters worse, an icy wind began to
blow, and the poor fishes were chilled right through their
bodies.
'This will never do,' said Thuggai, the oldest of the fish tribe.
'We shall die of cold unless we can light the fire again,' and he
bade his sons rub two sticks together in the hope of kindling a
flame, but though they rubbed till they were tired, not a spark
could they produce.
'Let me try,' cried Biernuga, the bony fish, but he had no better
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Fairytales 
