Chapter 3

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 fashion?"

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.

XVIII

MR. CRICKET FROG'S TRICK

"What's the matter? Are you hurt?" Chirpy Cricket called to Mr. Cricket Frog from the bank of the duck-pond. Ever since a splash near-by had interrupted their talk, Mr. Cricket Frog had not swum a single stroke. He was floating, motionless, upon the surface of the water. And he made no reply whatever to Chirpy's questions. He acted exactly as if he had not heard them. The fitful breeze caught at Mr. Cricket Frog's limp form and wafted it about.

Chirpy Cricket couldn't help being alarmed. And yet he almost thought, for a moment, that he saw Mr. Cricket Frog's eyes rolling in his direction, as he stood on the bank of the pond. If Mr. Cricket Frog was in trouble, Chirpy knew of no way to help him. And after a time he made up his mind that Mr. Cricket Frog was beyond anybody's help. Chirpy was about to go back to the farmyard when Mr. Cricket Frog came suddenly to life.

"Meet me here to-morrow!" he called. Then he dived to the bottom of the water. And Chirpy Cricket went home, thinking that it was all very queer.

"What happened to you yesterday?" Chirpy asked Mr. Cricket Frog, when he came back to the duck-pond the following day and found that spry little gentleman waiting for him on a lily-pad. "Were you ill?"

"Oh, no!" Mr. Cricket Frog answered. "When I heard a splash behind me I didn't know who made it. So I played dead for a while. And after waiting until I felt somewhat safer, I went down to the bottom of the pond and hid in the mud. I've found that it's always wise to attract as little attention as possible when I don't know who's lurking about.... I hope you didn't think I was rude," he added.

"No!" Chirpy told him. "But I've been upset ever since I saw you. I haven't had the heart to fiddle."

"Dear me!" Mr. Cricket Frog cried. "I must do something to cheer you up. I'll sing you a song!" Then Mr. Cricket Frog puffed out his yellow throat and began to sing. And he gave Chirpy Cricket a great surprise. For his singing was so like Chirpy's fiddling that Chirpy thought for a moment he was making the sound himself.

But there was one marked difference. Mr. Cricket Frog's time was not like his. It was not regular. Mr. Cricket Frog began to sing somewhat slowly and gradually sang faster and faster. After he had sung about thirty notes he would pause to get his breath. And then he would begin again, exactly as before.

Mr. Cricket Frog hadn't sung long before Chirpy's spirits began to rise. Indeed, he soon felt so cheerful that he began to fiddle. And between the two they made such a chirping that an old drake swam across the duck-pond to see what was going on.

Of course, his curiosity put an end to the concert. Mr. Cricket Frog saw him coming. And this time he didn't stop to play dead. He sank in a great hurry to the bottom of the pond.

Chirpy Cricket wondered why his friend chose to stay in a place where there were so many interruptions. "I should think," he said to himself, "Mr. Cricket Frog would rather live in a hole in the ground, as I do.... I must ask him, when I see him again, why he doesn't move to the farmyard."

Mr. Cricket Frog was very polite, later, when Chirpy spoke to him about moving. But he explained that he was too fond of swimming to do that. And besides, he thought his voice sounded better on water than it did on land.

XIX

IT WASN'T THUNDER

Quite often, during the nightly concerts in which Chirpy Cricket took part, he had noticed an odd cry, _Peent! Peent!_ which seemed to come from the woods. And sometimes there followed from the same direction a hollow, booming sound, as if somebody were amusing himself by blowing across the bung-hole of an empty barrel.

Chirpy Cricket had a great curiosity to know who made those queer noises. He asked everybody he met about them. And at last Kiddie Katydid told him that it was Mr. Nighthawk that he had heard.

"He seems to think he's a musician," said Chirpy Cricket. "But I must say I don't care much for his music. He's not what you might call a steady player. And his notes are not shrill enough for my liking. Perhaps he lacks training. I'd be glad to take him in hand and see what I could do with him. Tell me! Does he ever visit our neighborhood?"

"Not often!" said Kiddie Katydid. "I met him here once. And that was enough for me. I never felt more uncomfortable in all my life." He shuddered as he spoke and looked over his shoulder.

Somehow Chirpy Cricket did not share Kiddie Katydid's uneasiness. The more he thought about Mr. Nighthawk the more he wanted to meet him.

"If you ever see Mr. Nighthawk again I wish you'd tell him I want to talk with him," Chirpy said.

"I'll do so," Kiddie Katydid promised. "And now let me give you a bit of advice. When you meet Mr. Nighthawk, keep perfectly still. He's a hungry fellow, always on the look-out for somebody to eat. But he has one peculiar habit: he won't grab you unless you're moving through the air. He always takes his food on the wing."

Chirpy thanked his friend Kiddie Katydid for this valuable bit of news. And he said he'd be sure to remember it.

"Well," Kiddie Katydid observed, "if you forget it when you meet Mr. Nighthawk you'll forget it only once. For he'll grab you quick as a flash."

Chirpy Cricket pondered a good deal over the talk he had with Kiddie Katydid. It was clear that Mr. Nighthawk was a dangerous person. "Perhaps"--Chirpy thought--"perhaps if I could get him to take a greater interest in his music he wouldn't be so ferocious. Yes! I feel sure that if I could only persuade him to practice that booming sound it would give Mr. Nighthawk something pleasant to think of. Who knows but that he might become as gentle as I am?"

Chirpy Cricket liked that notion so much that he thought of little else. He even began to consider making a journey to the woods where Mr. Nighthawk lived, in order to meet that gentleman and offer to train him to be a better musician. And at last Chirpy had even decided to go--as soon as the moon should be full. He spent much of his time listening for Mr. Nighthawk's _Peent! Peent!_ which now and then came faintly across the meadow, and the dull, muffled _boom_ that often followed.

While Chirpy waited for the moon to grow full, one night an odd thing happened. The stars twinkled overhead. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Yet all at once a loud _boom_ startled Chirpy Cricket and made him leap suddenly towards home.

"Goodness!" he cried to Kiddie Katydid, who happened to be near him. "Did you hear the thunder?"

"That wasn't thunder," Kiddie said. "And you'd better not jump like that again. Mr. Nighthawk is here. He made that sound himself."

XX

BOUND TO BE DIFFERENT

Nothing ever surprised Chirpy Cricket more than what Kiddie Katydid told him. He had thought it was thunder that he had just heard. But it was Mr. Nighthawk, making that odd, booming sound of his. It was ever so much louder than Chirpy had supposed it could be. He had never heard it so near before.

For a moment Chirpy thought that perhaps Kiddie Katydid didn't know what he was talking about. But no! There was Mr. Nighthawk's well-known call, _Peent! Peent!_ There was no denying that it was his voice. He always talked through his nose--or so it sounded. And one couldn't mistake it.

Chirpy Cricket began to think that after all he would rather not have a talk with Mr. Nighthawk. He certainly sounded terrible!

Meanwhile Mr. Nighthawk alighted in a tree right over Chirpy's head, and settled himself lengthwise along a limb. He was, indeed, an odd person. He liked to be different from other folk. And just because other birds sat crosswise on a perch, Mr. Nighthawk had to sit in exactly the opposite fashion. No doubt if he could have, he would have hung underneath the limb by his heels, like Benjamin Bat. Only he would have wanted to hang by his nose instead of his heels, in order to be different.

"Has anybody seen Chirpy Cricket?" Mr. Nighthawk sang out.

"He's on the ground, under that tree you're in," Kiddie Katydid informed him. Kiddie never moved as he spoke, but clung closely to a twig in the bush where he was hiding. Being green himself, he hardly thought that Mr. 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 fashion. 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, rushing 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 assured 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.

"I live for the most part on seeds and grain," he said. "So you see I'm quite harmless."

Chirpy Cricket told him that he was glad to know it.

"I'm a vegetarian myself," he added proudly, "for I eat blades of grass. And you see I'm harmless too."

Mr. Meadow Mouse bestowed another fat smile on him.

"Then," he said, "it must be quite safe for me to stay here and talk with you."

Chirpy Cricket didn't know why the plump gentleman was smiling, unless it was because he felt easy in his mind. Chirpy couldn't help liking him, he was so friendly.

"I'll play my favorite tune for you, if you wish," Chirpy offered, being eager to do something pleasant for his new acquaintance.

"Do!" said Mr. Meadow Mouse. "And make it as lively as you please. For I've just dined well and I'm in a very cheerful mood."

So Chirpy Cricket began his _cr-r-r-i!_ _cr-r-r-i! cr-r-r-i!_ while Mr. Meadow Mouse moved nearer and watched him closely. After a time he began to fidget. And at last he asked Chirpy if he wouldn't please be still for a moment, because there was something he wanted to say.

Chirpy stopped fiddling.

"I notice," said Mr. Meadow Mouse, "that you're having some trouble tuning up your fiddle. So if you don't mind I'll go over in the cornfield on a matter of business and come back here later. Then, no doubt, you'll be all ready to play a tune for me."

Chirpy Cricket had to explain that he had been playing a tune all the time--that he always played on one note.

So Mr. Meadow Mouse stayed and heard more of the fiddling. He begged Chirpy's pardon for his mistake. And he said that if he only had a fiddle he should like to learn the same tune himself. "Although," he added, "it must be very difficult to play always on the same note. It must take a great deal of practice."

XXIII

A WAIL IN THE DARK

There was an odd cry that often interrupted the nightly concerts of the Cricket family. Chirpy Cricket had never heard it in the daytime. But when twilight began to wrap Pleasant Valley in its shadows, the strange, wailing call was almost sure to come quavering through the air. Somehow it always sent a shiver over Chirpy. And sometimes it made him lose a few notes--if he happened to be fiddling when he heard it.