The Tale of Chirpy Cricket Part 8

Nighthawk would be able to discover him amongst shrubbery of the same color.

Chirpy Cricket wished that Kiddie Katydid hadn't replied to Mr. Nighthawk at all. But how could Kiddie know that Chirpy had changed his mind? And now Mr. Nighthawk spoke to Chirpy.

"I can't see you very well, Mr. Cricket," he said. "Won't you leap into the air a few times, so I can get a good look at you? I've heard that you've been wanting to meet me. And I've come all the way from the woods just to please you."

Luckily Chirpy Cricket did not forget Kiddie Katydid's advice. Kiddie had explained to him how Mr. Nighthawk caught his meals on the wing.

"You'll have to excuse me," Chirpy told Mr. Nighthawk. "I'd rather not do any jumping for you. That wasn't why I wanted to meet you."

"Ha!" said Mr. Nighthawk. "Then why--pray--did you wish to see me?"

"I thought"--Chirpy Cricket replied--"I thought that perhaps you'd like me to help you with your music. I've often heard your booming at a distance. And it has seemed to me that you have the making of a good musician, if you have a good teacher."

Mr. Nighthawk sniffed. It must be remembered that he was not very gentlemanly.

"I've had plenty of training," he said. "I didn't come all the way from the woods to be told that I don't know my own business. I practice every night. And I flatter myself that I'm a perfect performer."

"Then," said Chirpy Cricket, "perhaps you need a new fiddle. For there's no doubt that your booming would sound much better if it were shriller."

Mr. Nighthawk gave a rude laugh.

"I don't make that sound with a fiddle," he sneered. "Don't you know a wind instrument when you hear it?"

XXI

MR. NIGHTHAWK EXPLAINS

Mr. Nighthawk appeared to think it a great joke on Chirpy Cricket, because Chirpy had thought he played the fiddle. He laughed in a most disagreeable fas.h.i.+on. And he kept repeating that people who didn't know a wind instrument when they heard it couldn't know much about music.

As for Chirpy, he didn't know just what to say. But at last he managed to stammer that he hoped he hadn't offended Mr. Nighthawk.

"Not at all!" Mr. Nighthawk told him. "This is the funniest thing I've heard for a long time. It was worth coming all the way from the woods to enjoy a laugh over it."

Of course it was very rude for Mr. Nighthawk to speak in such a way. But he was never polite to any of the smaller field-people, unless he happened to be coaxing them to jump, so that he might grab them when they were in the air. You may be sure he was as meek as he could be if he happened to meet Solomon Owl. But at that moment Solomon was far off in the hemlock woods. Only a short time before Mr. Nighthawk had heard his rolling call in the distance. So he felt quite safe in bullying so gentle a creature as Chirpy Cricket.

Thinking that he ought to be polite to his caller, rude as he was, Chirpy asked Mr. Nighthawk if he wouldn't kindly play something.

"I don't care if I do," said Mr. Nighthawk--meaning that he _did_ care, and that he _would_ play something. But it was not because he wanted to oblige anybody. He was proud of his booming. And he was only too glad of a chance to show Chirpy Cricket how loud he could make it sound.

"Stay right there in that tree, if you will!" Chirpy said. "I won't move.

I'll sit here and listen."

"Ha, ha!" Mr. Nighthawk laughed. "I _knew_ you didn't know anything about wind instruments. When I make that booming sound I'm always on the wing.

I'm going to take a flight now. And when I come back you'll hear a noise that is a noise--and not a squeaky chirp."

Then Mr. Nighthawk left his perch and climbed up into the sky. And when he had risen high enough to suit him he dropped like a stone. It seemed to Chirpy Cricket that he had never heard anything so loud as the _boom_ that broke not far above his head soon afterward. At the very moment when it looked as if Mr. Nighthawk must dash himself to pieces upon the ground, right where Chirpy Cricket crouched and trembled, he had spread his wings and checked his fall. It was the air, rus.h.i.+ng through his wing-feathers with great force, that made the queer, hollow sound. That was why Mr. Nighthawk claimed that he made the booming on a wind instrument.

"There!" he said, when he had settled himself in the tree once more. "If you think you can teach me to perform better, just try that trick yourself!"

But Chirpy Cricket said that he was sure Mr. Nighthawk's performance couldn't be bettered by anybody. And he remarked that the noise reminded him of a high wind coming on top of a thunder storm.

That pleased Mr. Nighthawk.

"It's the greatest praise I've ever had!" he declared. And before Chirpy Cricket knew what had happened, Mr. Nighthawk had flown away.

Chirpy often wondered why he left so suddenly. The truth was that Mr.

Nighthawk had hurried back to the woods to tell his wife what Chirpy Cricket had said to him. And ever afterward he was fond of repeating Chirpy's remark, in a boasting way, until his neighbors were heartily tired of hearing it.

XXII

HARMLESS MR. MEADOW MOUSE

One night when Chirpy Cricket was fiddling his prettiest, not far from the fence between the farmyard and the meadow, he had a queer feeling, as if somebody were gazing at him. And glancing up quickly, he saw that a plump person sat on a fence-rail, busily engaged in staring at him.

"How-dy do!" Chirpy Cricket piped; for the fat, four-legged person looked both cheerful and harmless. "I take it you're fond of music."

The stranger, whose name was Mr. Meadow Mouse, smiled. "I won't dispute your statement," he said.

"Perhaps you play some instrument yourself," Chirpy observed.

But Mr. Meadow Mouse shook his head.

"No!" he replied. "No! To tell the truth, I haven't much time for that sort of thing. Besides, it seems to me somewhat dangerous. I was wondering, while I watched you, whether you weren't likely to fiddle yourself into bits--you were working so hard."

Chirpy Cricket a.s.sured him that there wasn't the least danger.

"All my family are famous fiddlers," he said. "And I've never heard of such an accident happening to any of them."

Mr. Meadow Mouse appeared to be slightly disappointed.

"I thought," he said, "I could pick up the pieces for you, in case you fell apart."

Dark as he was, Chirpy Cricket almost turned pale.

"You--you weren't intending to--to swallow the pieces, were you?" he stammered.

"Dear me! No!" Mr. Meadow Mouse gasped. "I'm what's known as a vegetarian."

Well, when he heard that, Chirpy Cricket made ready to jump out of the stranger's way. He didn't know what a vegetarian was; but it sounded terrible to him.

Mr. Meadow Mouse must have guessed that Chirpy was uneasy. Anyhow, he hastened to explain that a vegetarian was one that ate only food that grew on plants of one kind or another.