CHIRPY IS CAREFUL

"Do you live near-by?" Chirpy Cricket inquired of Mr. Mole Cricket, who had just invited him to his home to meet his wife.

"My home is not very far from here," his new cousin said. "We'll go back through this tunnel I've been making. The other end of it opens into my dwelling, some distance below the surface of the garden. Follow me and you'll have no trouble finding it."

But somehow Chirpy Cricket did not quite like the idea of travelling with the stranger, cousin though he might be, under Farmer Green's garden.

"Not to-day!" he said politely. "I haven't had anything to eat since last night. And I don't feel like taking a journey."

"We'll s.n.a.t.c.h a bite on the way to my house," Mr. Mole Cricket suggested cheerfully. "I'll dig out a few juicy roots for you. Which kind do you like best--beet, turnip or carrot?"

"I don't like any of them," Chirpy Cricket confessed.

"You don't!" his cousin cried, as if he were astonished to hear that.

"What do you live on, then?"

"Gra.s.s!" Chirpy answered.

"I've never heard of it," said Mr. Mole Cricket. "And I must say you have queer tastes--even though you are my own cousin."

Chirpy Cricket saw that he and Mr. Mole Cricket were bound to have trouble if they saw too much of each other. So he hinted--in a delicate way--that Mr. Mole Cricket's wife must be wondering where he was.

Thereupon that gentleman started up hurriedly and made for his tunnel.

"I'll see you again sometime," he said hastily over his shoulder. And in another instant he was gone.

They never met again. Chirpy Cricket took great pains never to spend another day in hiding in Farmer Green's garden. He was afraid there might be trouble if he saw more of his cousin. And he couldn't forget those powerful forelegs and enormous feet of Mr. Mole Cricket! They looked very dangerous.

The longer Chirpy pondered over his brief meeting with Mr. Mole Cricket, the more firmly he made up his mind that he had been in great danger and that he had been lucky to escape alive. Everybody knew that Grandfather Mole was a terrible-tempered person when aroused. He would rush at anybody, big or little. Perhaps that was because he couldn't see what sized person he was attacking. For Grandfather Mole was blind. But he never stopped to inquire of anybody whether he was tall or short, thick or thin. He just went ahead without asking.

"I'm glad," thought Chirpy, "that I didn't go home with Mr. Mole Cricket.

If his wife's feet are anything like his they'd be a fearful pair to quarrel with. And even if they hadn't quarrelled with me, they might have had trouble between themselves. And if I happened to get in their way it would certainly have gone hard with me."

Harmless Mr. Mole Cricket never knew what a monster his cousin Chirpy Cricket believed him to be. When he reached home he told his wife that he had met a queer little cousin who spent much of his time above ground and lived on gra.s.s.

But Mrs. Mole Cricket wouldn't believe him. She told him not to be silly.

She even said that there wasn't any such thing as gra.s.s. And she asked him how anybody could live on it when there wasn't any anywhere.

Naturally, she wouldn't have talked like that if she had ever seen much of the world. But she had spent her whole life down in the dirt, beneath Farmer Green's garden.

XV

TOMMY TREE CRICKET

After meeting that odd Mr. Mole Cricket, who claimed to be his cousin, Chirpy Cricket tried to find out more about him from his nearer relations. But there wasn't one that had ever seen or heard of such a person. One night Chirpy even travelled quite a distance to call on Tommy Tree Cricket, with the hope that perhaps Tommy might be able to tell him something.

Chirpy found Tommy Tree Cricket in the tangle of raspberry bushes beyond the garden. It was not hard to tell where he was, because he was a famous fiddler. He played a tune that was different from Chirpy's _cr-r-r-i!

cr-r-r-i! cr-r-r-i!_ Tommy Tree Cricket fiddled _re-teat! re-teat!

re-teat!_ And many considered him a much finer musician than Chirpy himself. He was small and pale. Beside Chirpy Cricket, who was all but black, Tommy Tree Cricket looked decidedly delicate. But he could fiddle all night without getting tired.

"I've come all the way from the yard to have a chat with you!" Chirpy called to his cousin Tommy.

"Come up and have a seat!" said Tommy Tree Cricket.

"I can find one here, thank you!" Chirpy answered.

"Oh! Don't sit on the damp ground!" Tommy cried. "That's a dangerous thing to do."

Chirpy Cricket smiled to himself. In a way Tommy Tree Cricket was queer.

He always clung to trees and shrubs, claiming that it was much more healthful to live off the ground. But he was so pale that Chirpy Cricket was sure he was mistaken.

"The ground's good enough for me," Chirpy told his cousin.

"Well, we won't quarrel about that tonight," said Tommy Tree Cricket.

"Sit there, if you will. And when I've finished playing this tune we'll have a talk. I only hope you won't catch cold while you're waiting down there."

"Can't you stop fiddling long enough to talk with me now?" Chirpy asked him. "I've come here to ask you whether you ever saw a cousin of ours called Mr. Mole Cricket."

"_Re-teat! re-teat! re-teat!_" Tommy Tree Cricket was already fiddling away as if it were the last night of the summer. He was making so much shrill music that he couldn't hear a word Chirpy said. The more Chirpy tried to attract his attention the harder he played, rolling his eyes in every direction--except that of his caller.

Several times Chirpy Cricket leaped into the air, hoping that Tommy Tree Cricket would see that he had something important to say. But Tommy paid not the slightest heed to him.

At last Chirpy decided that he might as well do a little fiddling himself, to pa.s.s the time away. So he began his _cr-r-r-i! cr-r-r-i!

cr-r-r-i!_ And then Tommy noticed him immediately.

"You're playing the wrong tune!" he cried. "It's _re-teat! re-teat!

re-teat!_"

Chirpy Cricket thought that his cousin's face was slightly darker, as if a flush of annoyance had come over it. He certainly didn't want to quarrel with Tommy Tree Cricket. So he said to him, very mildly, "I fear you do not like my playing."

"I can't say that I do," said Tommy. "It makes me think of that creaking pump at the farmhouse."

"And of what"--Chirpy Cricket stammered--"of what, pray, does your own fiddling remind you?"

"Ah!" said Tommy. "My own music is like nothing in the world except the sound of a shimmering moonbeam."

There is no doubt that Tommy Tree Cricket thought very well of his own fiddling.

XVI

A LONG WAIT