XXIMR. 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 fora 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 hedidcare, and that hewouldplay 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. “Iknewyou 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 ChirpyCricket that he had never heard anything so loud as theboomthat 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 ofa 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.
XXIIHARMLESS 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 hiscr-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 tolearn 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.”
XXIIIA 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.
He learned that it was a dangerous bird known as Simon Screecher—a cousin of Solomon Owl—that made this uncannycall. If he had lived, like Solomon, across the meadow in the hemlock woods, Chirpy Cricket would have paid less heed to the noise he made. But Simon Screecher had his home in a hollow apple tree in Farmer Green’s orchard.
It was said—by those that claimed to know—that Simon Screecher slept in the daytime. But every tiny night-creature—the Katydids and the Crickets and all the rest—knew that after sunset Simon Screecher was as wide awake as anybody.
It was no wonder that Chirpy Cricket was always uneasy when Simon screeched his warning that he was awake and looking for his supper. Chirpy knew that he could not depend on Simon to stay long in one place. Though you heard his screech in the orchard one moment, you might see him in the farmyard soon afterward. He never ate a whole meal in justone spot, but preferred to move about wherever his fancy took him. Simon himself said that he could eat off and on all night long, if he kept moving.
Somehow Mr. Meadow Mouse had heard of this saying of Simon Screecher’s. “You ought to crawl into your hole under the straw whenever Simon Screecher is about the neighborhood,” he advised Chirpy one evening, when the two chanced to meet near the fence.
“But Simon is around here every night,” Chirpy replied. “If I stayed at home from dusk till dawn I couldn’t take part in another concert all summer long.”
Mr. Meadow Mouse said that that would be a great pity.
“Don’t you suppose”—Chirpy asked him hopefully—“don’t you suppose I could jump out of Simon Screecher’s reach if he tried to catch me?”
“You could find out by trying,” said Mr. Meadow Mouse.
So Chirpy Cricket began to feel more cheerful. He even fiddled a bit, thinking that he had no special reason to worry. And then all at once he stopped making music.
Mr. Meadow Mouse had been searching about on the ground for seeds, while he was enjoying Chirpy’s fiddling. And when the music came to a sudden end he looked up and saw that something was troubling the fiddler.
“What’s the matter now?” he inquired.
“An unpleasant idea has just come into my head,” Chirpy told him. “It would be very unlucky for me if I found that I wasn’t spry enough to escape Simon Screecher!”
Mr. Meadow Mouse had to admit that there was a good deal of truth in Chirpy’sremark. But he said he was ready with another suggestion. “It’s a good one, too,” he declared.
“What is it?” Chirpy asked him.
“You’ll have to think of some other way”—said Mr. Meadow Mouse—“some other way of being safe from Simon Screecher.”
XXIVFRIGHTENING SIMON SCREECHER
Mr. Meadow Mouse acted as if he thought he had been a great help when he said that Chirpy Cricket would have to think of another way to avoid Simon Screecher’s cruel talons. But the more Chirpy turned the matter over in his mind the further he seemed to be from any plan. For several days and nights he puzzled over his problem. And every time he heard Simon Screecher’s unearthly wail he shivered so hard that his fiddling actually seemed to shiver too.
Mr. Meadow Mouse inquired regularly whether Chirpy had hit upon any plan.And at last Mr. Meadow Mouse announced that he would have to think of one himself. So he sat down and looked very wise, while Chirpy Cricket fiddled for him, because Mr. Meadow Mouse explained that his wits always worked better when somebody made music for him.
“Didn’t you notice his cry a little while ago?” Mr. Meadow Mouse asked. “Didn’t you notice how his voice trembled?”
“Yes!” Chirpy said. “Yes! Now that you speak of it, I remember that his voice shook a good deal.”
“Ah!” Mr. Meadow Mouse exclaimed. “Something had frightened him. Now, you had just begun to fiddle before he cried out. And there’s no doubt in my mind that your music scared Simon Screecher. So all you need do to feel safe from him is to fiddle a plenty every night.”
Chirpy Cricket felt so happy all at oncethat he began a lively tune. And sure enough! Simon Screecher squalled almost immediately.
“That proves it!” Mr. Meadow Mouse exclaimed. And then he said good evening and ran off to the place where Farmer Green had been threshing oats, feeling very well pleased with himself.
Chirpy Cricket took pains to follow Mr. Meadow Mouse’s advice. And neither Simon Screecher—nor his cousin Solomon Owl—troubled Chirpy all the rest of the summer. He fiddled the nights away with more pleasure than ever before. And by the time fall came all his neighbors agreed that he had done even more than his part to make the summer gay for everybody.
THE END
THE END
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