The Tale of Chirpy Cricket Part 6

Chirpy cricket was so good-natured that he wouldn't quarrel with his cousin, Tommy Tree Cricket. Although Tommy had said bluntly that Chirpy's fiddling reminded him of Farmer Green's creaking pump, Chirpy made no disagreeable answer. He did not want to hurt his pale cousin's feelings.

After making his rude remark Tommy Tree Cricket began his _re-teat!

re-teat! re-teat!_ once more. He shuffled his wings together at a faster rate than ever, as if he had to furnish all the music for the night. As before, he seemed to have forgotten all about his caller; for Chirpy still waited beneath the raspberry bush where Tommy Tree Cricket was fiddling.

But if Tommy paid no heed to Chirpy, there was a reason why. Near Tommy sat a pale young miss of his own sort, who listened with great enjoyment to his playing. Or at least she acted as if she thought it the most beautiful music in the whole world.

Tommy Tree Cricket was not so intent upon his fiddling that he couldn't roll his eyes towards his fair listener. And Chirpy was not slow to understand that it was for her that Tommy was playing his _re-teat!

re-teat! re-teat!_

"I'll wait here until he rests," Chirpy said to himself. "Then I'll ask him again what he knows about Mr. Mole Cricket."

Well, Chirpy waited and waited. But it seemed to him that as the night lengthened Tommy Tree Cricket fiddled all the faster. And if the weather hadn't turned colder along toward morning probably he wouldn't have had a chance to speak to Tommy again.

Anyhow, a cool wind began to whip around the side of Blue Mountain and sweep through Pleasant Valley. And the moment it struck Tommy Tree Cricket he began to play more slowly. Little by little a longer pause crept between his _re-teats_. And at last the pale miss beside him cried, "I hope you're not going to stop your beautiful fiddling!"

"I fear I'll have to," Tommy told her with a sigh. "I'm beginning to feel a bit stiff, with this north wind blowing on me."

This was Chirpy Cricket's chance.

"Please!" he called. "Will you listen to me a moment?"

"What! Have you come back again?" Tommy Tree Cricket sang out.

"No! I've been here all the time," Chirpy explained. "I've been waiting for hours to have a talk with you."

"Very well!" Tommy answered. "It's too cold for me to fiddle any more. So talk away! And you'd better be quick about it, for the night's almost gone."

But somehow Chirpy Cricket felt that his chat could wait a little longer.

If the pale young person clinging to the raspberry bush near Tommy Tree Cricket loved music, he thought it was a pity to disappoint her.

"You may feel too cold to fiddle; but I don't!" Chirpy said. "I'm quite warm down here on the ground. This little hollow where I'm sitting is sheltered from the wind. So I'll fiddle for your friend." As he spoke he began to play.

Looks as of great pain came over the pale faces of his two listeners in the raspberry bush. And they shuddered so violently that they had to cling tightly to their seats to keep from falling.

"My friend thanks you. But she says she doesn't care for your fiddling,"

Tommy Tree Cricket called down to Chirpy. "She says it's too squeaky."

Chirpy Cricket was fiddling so hard by that time that he never heard a word. And when he stopped at last, to rest a bit, a voice cried out, "That's fine! Won't you play some more?"

Chirpy Cricket was pleased. He thought, of course, that it was Tommy's friend speaking to him. But when he looked up he couldn't see her anywhere--nor her companion either.

They had both disappeared. And it was already gray in the east.

XVII

SITTING ON A LILY-PAD

Though Chirpy Cricket looked all around with great care, he couldn't discover who had spoken to him. A voice from somewhere had called out that his music was fine and asked him if he wouldn't play some more.

Whoever the owner of the voice might be, it was plain that he liked music. So without knowing for whom he was playing, Chirpy began to fiddle again. And when he stopped the same voice cried, "Thank you very much!"

Now, the duck-pond was near-by. And at first Chirpy hadn't thought of looking there for his listener. But the second time he heard the voice he guessed that it came from the pond. So Chirpy leaped to the water's edge; and there, sitting on a lily-pad, was the tiniest Frog he had ever seen.

He seemed no bigger than Chirpy himself.

"How do you do!" Chirpy said to him. "Was it you that spoke to me?"

"Yes!" the stranger said. "I've been enjoying your music. And I'm glad to meet you. It's time we knew each other, living as we do in the same neighborhood. My name is Mr. Cricket Frog. And may I inquire what yours is?"

"I'm called Chirpy Cricket," said the fiddler on the bank. "Is it possible--do you think--that we are cousins?"

"No!" said Mr. Cricket Frog. "No! I belong to a branch of the well-known Tree Frog family. But somehow I've never cared to live in trees. Indeed, I've never climbed a tree in all my life."

"You're a sensible person!" Chirpy Cricket cried. He did not know that the reason why Mr. Cricket Frog stayed on the ground was because his feet were not suited to climbing trees. He couldn't have got up a tree if he had tried. "Aren't you afraid of falling off that lily-pad into the water?" Chirpy asked his new friend. "It seems to me you haven't picked out a safe place at all."

He had scarcely finished speaking when he had a great fright. For Mr.

Cricket Frog did not answer him. Instead he leaped suddenly into the air.

And Chirpy Cricket feared that he would fall into the water and be drowned. But when Mr. Cricket Frog came down again he landed squarely upon another lily-pad.

"I caught him," he said pleasantly.

Chirpy Cricket had no idea what he was talking about.

"Whom did you catch?" he asked.

"The fly!" Mr. Cricket Frog replied.

"Don't you think you took a great risk, leaping above the water like that?" Chirpy inquired. "Aren't you worried for fear you'll fall into the pond some day, if you jump for flies in that careless fas.h.i.+on?"

Mr. Cricket Frog tried not to smile.

"Bless you!" he exclaimed. "I spend half my time in the water. Please don't think I'm boasting when I say I'm a fine swimmer. You'll understand why when you look at my feet." And he held up a foot so that Chirpy Cricket might see it.

Chirpy noticed that there were webs between Mr. Cricket Frog's toes. And everybody knows that webbed feet are the best for swimming.

Mr. Cricket Frog wanted to be agreeable. "Would you like to see me swim?"

he asked.

"Yes, thank you!" Chirpy replied.

So Mr. Cricket Frog leaped nimbly into the water and began to swim among the lily-pads while Chirpy watched him and admired his skill.

All at once Chirpy heard a splash. And he was just about to ask Mr.

Cricket Frog what it could be, when he noticed something queer about his new friend. He was no longer swimming. He was floating, motionless, upon the water. Not by a single movement of any kind did he show that he was alive.