and hands after the boat, for they could see it was not going to wait
for the Ant this time. He would not have that boat ride down the bend
after all. He did not care, for he had his things all with him and
could cross some way later. He had intended merely to land with them on
the bowlder and watch them as they landed, then go back to the boat;
but, as it had floated away, he did not care. They clambered to the
top of the bowlder to see how the shore looked, and all at once they
saw a large sign which said:
WONDERFUL INSECT BAND CONCERT
HERE TONIGHT
FREE
COME AND BRING YOUR FRIENDS
THE BAND CONCERT
“Oh, my!” cried the small Spider, Size Two. “We ought to hear that! It
was advertised in last night’s paper, and I am sure it will be fine.
Ever hear a band concert, Mr. Ant?”
“Never!” replied the Ant. “Mother never would take me, but sent me to
bed too early to hear any concert of any kind.”
“Oh,” said the Ladybug, “we must hear it!”
“What about the home folks?” asked the small Spider, Size Two.
“I’ll tell you what,” said she. “Go to the nearest telephone booth and
call up your wife and tell her. She will let my family know too, for
she is the best neighbor I have, and we’ll get back before so very
late.”
Ah! but there was no telephone on the grounds, so the small Spider,
Size Two sent a wireless message instead, and the matter was arranged.
As the dark came slowly, a Bat and all his cousins appeared from the
woods somewhere or other and flew gayly about in the air, they were
so excited about the concert. And the Fireflies began to bring out
their little lanterns and try them on the dark corners here and there
to see about the flash workings, and they began their dance about the
place. The Crickets were vibrating their wing cases, and all sorts of
insects that are more or less still all day were trying their violins,
and flutes, and zippers, and zingers, and zoomers, and buzzoons, and
drummerinos, and all the funny instruments only night insects know how
to play. It was all very exciting. The three friends took hold of hands
and sat on a small bench made of bark. They did not speak a loud
word, it was so beautiful. There was a large crowd, for everybody from
all the places around came.
[Illustration: _The Fireflies began to bring out their little lanterns_]
“Which is your favorite sound?” whispered the Ladybug to the Ant.
“Why, I think it is the quiet, soothing sound those pale green insects
with the wings you can see through are making,” he answered.
“Ah!” said she. “Those are the so-called August Croakers. They are a
sort of Tree Cricket, and they sing every evening as soon as the dusk
is near enough. They will not stop till the frost puts an end to their
song.”
“They are my favorite too,” said the small Spider, Size Two. “Those
loud, zippy things that make such a lot of exciting noise with their
funny jiggerettes are all right for a little while to liven things up
a bit, but for a steady, all-around, satisfying sound, give me the
August Croakers every time.”
As some of the concert was sure to last most of the night, the Ladybug
and the small Spider, Size Two thought they would better not stay after
the Fireflies had finished the most lively part of their dance. They
said good-by to the Ant and slipped away in the dark before he could
thank them again for the great kindness they had shown him. All at once
it was as though the night had shut him in with a smothering feeling of
unhappiness. He was alone!
Anthony Ant went back to the dark bench and sat there alone trying
to think what to do next. If the August Croakers had not been there
with their comforting sounds, and the Crickets with their cheerful
trills, he would have cried, he was sure. He watched the Fireflies and
the Bats, and tried to follow the tune the loud, zippy insects were
playing. It must be a sort of Hungarian gypsy dance, he thought, for he
had heard that Hungarian music played by gypsies was of the wild, queer
kind.
All at once Anthony Ant thought of his home and nice soft bed. He was
tired from so much happiness all day and so much loneliness suddenly,
and how he wished he could walk into the doorway of Ant-Hill Manor and
find himself in his own snug corner where the Night could not hurt
him! It seemed all at once, you see, as though the Night was something
that would catch and hurt him. Anyway, he knew it would not do to sit
on that bench all night. How he wished his friends had asked him to go
with them! To be safe in Knot-Hole Barkalow with the Ladybug family
or in some snug place with the small Spider, Size Two family, would
be better than to be alone in a strange place. The other insects were
going to their homes, and the place was getting more lonely every
minute. There were fewer lights from the Firefly lanterns, and the
Crickets were not so cheerful as at first, for even they were getting
sleepy.
Anthony Ant left the bench and stole through the many shadows to the
bank of the brook again. To hear its murmur was a little more cheerful,
for he had heard it all day while sailing with his friends and
traveling near it.
As he walked along the edge he came to the great bowlder where they had
landed. He climbed to the top to see if in the dark there was anything
to be seen. The pale moon was shining faintly over the water, and as he
stood upon the top of the bowlder he saw a sight that made him a wee
bit happy. The boat he thought gone forever was stuck near the shore
farther down. If he could walk down the shore a little distance, he
could get aboard. Maybe it would not seem so lonely on the white chip
where he had been so happy. So he wearily climbed down the bowlder
and, with his lunch basket and dressing case, crawled slowly along the
shore until he came to the boat, and glad was he to find he could get
on deck easily. This he did, and while the chip swung gently in some
weeds without bobbling at all, he fell asleep and forgot how lonely he
was and how afraid he was of the Night. He even had one pleasant little
dream about the birthday party at the Wild-Rose Tea House!
KEEPING DOWN LUMPS
If Anthony Ant had thought the day before that Dr. Alexander Beetle Bug
knew how to write a prescription that was good for something, the same
prescription did not seem so joyful when he wakened early next morning.
He found that the chip was bobbling horribly and that if he had not
used his dressing case for a pillow, and tied his lunch basket to his
belt, probably both would have been jubbled into the brook in the
night. He sat up in a hurry and discovered that he must have drifted
far away from the place he had boarded the chip the night before.
There was nothing on either shore that looked the least like anything
he had seen the day before. My, but he was scared!
“Oh, where am I?” he thought. “I must have gone ’way past the bend
of the brook and halfway down to the other end of the world! This is
awful! I’d better get off right away!”
Oh, but he couldn’t get off right away! The current was too swift, and
there was no chance to jump to anything near the boat. He had to hang
on as hard as ever was, and sail away whether he wanted to or not.
He was hungry too, for he had not tasted anything since the picnic
afternoon tea of the day before, but with the bobbling of the boat he
could not even open his lunch basket. There was nothing to do but to
wait until something happened.
The something which happened did it so quickly that Anthony Ant did not
know what it was. All he knew was that he was sore from head to foot
from a big bump he got when something dashed the chip against a large
stone near the middle of the brook. The boat itself had had its last
trip for a long time, as any one could tell by looking at it. It stood
on its side against the stone, and a mass of weeds and grass that had
floated down after it now wedged it in so it could not get out unless a
most out-of-the-way thing should let it out of its prison.
The Ant had his things with him, anyway, and that was something. Maybe
his mother had guessed that his journey would not all be easy and that
there might be bumps and scratches and bruises, for mothers know all
about those things always. So in his dressing case he found salve in a
tiny jar, and something to put on bumps, and a small roll of bandages,
and even a little bottle of liniment for lameness.
A big lump that nearly made him cry seemed to get into his throat when
he thought about Mother Ant so far away in that cosy Ant-Hill Manor.
Whenever he was hurt, she had such a cuddly way of taking him into
her lap and rocking him in the big rocking-chair, and saying, “Poor
little Anthony! Did he hurt himself on the bad stones? There, there,
there! Don’t cry now, Mother’s petkins! It will be all well soon. Let
Mother kiss it. There, there! See the pretty pictures of all the little
Antlets in the nice picture book Mother will show him. Here’s a little
Antlet that got hurt just like you. Such a naughty little Antlet that
ran away from his dear mother and brothers and sisters once upon a
time, and fell down a terrible hill, and bumped both his knees on his
frontest legs, and tore his best clothes! Oh, my, my! Look at him, and
see how he is crying! And here he is in another picture, trying to get
home to dear Mother, and here she is coming after him and picking him
up, and here--”
But Anthony Ant had to stop that minute thinking about all that, for it
made that lump so big that the tears were all ready to tumble down from
the tear places in his eyes. How the whole family would laugh at him if
he let cuddly thoughts turn him into a baby and send him back home like
a silly coward! He would stick to the doctor’s prescription whatever
happened, for even his mother, who never had let him go off alone
before, had smiled at the prescription and had helped him get ready to
go.
Sometimes something from a lunch basket is the very best thing to keep
down a lump in the throat, for often things seem much worse when the
stomach is empty. Anthony Ant, therefore, put salve and bandages and
liniment on his worst hurts, and then sat down on the flat part of the
great stone and opened his lunch basket.
Another lump almost came up into his throat at sight of the pink
Japanese napkins and dainty things, for it made him think of those kind
friends he might never see again. But he took a sandwich right away.
The minute he had swallowed a mouthful both the lumps had gone, and by
the time he had eaten the things suitable for a whole breakfast he was
as cheerful as any Ant could have been far away from home. He found
that the lunch basket had been wiped clean from any grit, and the jar
that had held the honey his mother had put in was washed clean and
filled with a rich cheese made from goodness-knows-what, for it was a
secret dainty of the Wild-Rose Tea House and was not given away to
everyone.
After breakfast Anthony felt better. He even whistled a little tune,
called “All on a Sunny Morning.” He made up his mind to several
sensible things. One was that he would not travel too hard and fast
that day. Another was that he would try to find something to eat before
his lunch basket was empty. Another was that he would not let anything
make him forget to keep both his lunch basket and his dressing case
with him where they would be safe. The last thing was that he would
make the Ladybug and the small Spider, Size Two proud they had met him,
by really always being as polite as he had seemed to them to be, for
well he knew that he was not always so kind and mannerly.
The next thing was to cross to the right bank of the brook, and this
was not easy. The water was swift and deep, and he must wait for
something to float down.
Many odd bits of floating things passed him, but at last came a round
bit of branch broken from some tree, and it stuck in the narrow channel
between the big stone and the next one. It was so unsteady, though,
that Anthony Ant strapped both his lunch basket and his dressing case
to his belt before crossing the wobbly bridge, and he nearly fell off
three times before the trip across was made. There was a shallow place
beyond this next stone, and he found he could get around it and over
the shallowest parts of it on stones and gravel that partly choked the
brook there. One more deep place stood between him and the bank, and
then a willow branch bobbed in the breeze and brushed the stone upon
which he stood. The next time it bobbed down he took firm hold of it
and pulled himself up. The remainder of the journey was easy, for there
is nothing easier for a smooth pathway for Ants than willow branches,
and on this fine floorway Anthony Ant climbed into the tree and down
its trunk to the ground.
[Illustration: _He nearly fell off three times before the trip across
was made_]
Another cheerful thing happened then, for he spied a bush near the
willow tree. On the bush a number of large black Ants were trying to
take home a large Bug they had killed. Maybe you never heard of it, but
there is a law among Ants that any Bug, whoever kills it, belongs to
as many Ants as can get any of it. So Anthony Ant felt he had as much
right to some of the Bug as they had, and he boldly marched up to get a
piece.
It was such a good Bug that none of the black Ants wanted to lose a
morsel of it, and they boxed Anthony Ant’s ears and bit at him and
said things to him that no polite Ant would say whether he were a
black Ant or a red one. But Anthony was brave and spry in spite of his
bruises, and he skipped in between the Ants and dodged their cuffings
so well that he managed to pull off a large piece of Bug--enough for
several meals. Without waiting to hear any of their rude remarks, he
ran with it down the bush and hid behind a rock, where he rested and
took the time to break the Bug into pieces of a size to fit into his
basket. It gave him a comfortable feeling to know that his lunch basket
once more was as heavy as it had been when he first left home.
There was no woods on this side of the brook in this spot, but an
open field of short grass. It would be a good change from dark thick
trees, he thought, and much more cheerful, and after lunch he started
off toward the right, and left the brook behind him. He might meet
adventures in the middle of the field, he thought.
Long before he reached the middle of the field, however, an Ant Venture
happened, for as he pressed forward through a dense part of the grass
he came suddenly upon a large hole--a vast cave it seemed to him--and
over the cave was a sign which said:
MOLESWORTH DEEP MINING COMPANY,
LIMITED
AT MOLESWORTH HALL
Anthony Ant sat down on a small pebble to think about that sign and
what it might mean. Was it a sort of side-show cave in there, or was
it a real mine that went down into the black, dark earth farther than
any Ants ever had dug? Whichever it was, it was a strange thing to come
across here in the field. He thought he would wait and see if there
were any signs of life about the place.
There were! The signs of life came all too soon. Something pushed him
off the pebble so suddenly that he did not know what it was. It was
large and soft and dark. He knew that much about how it first seemed.
In a second he was standing on all his feet and looking to see what the
thing was.
“What’s the matter? Were you looking for a job?” came a deep, soft
voice.
“No, sir,” replied Anthony Ant, looking up at what the voice seemed to
come from. Before him was a velvety creature like a mouse, maybe, all
but its head and nose and eyes, and sort of different about its feet.
“I was just thinking about that sign and what it might mean.”
“I’ll tell you that free of charge,” said the voice. “There you see one
of the most wonderful mines in the whole world. I live there, and I
helped make it, so I ought to know.”
“What do you get out of it?” asked Anthony Ant, for he had seen
pictures in the books at home about mines and had heard how gold, and
iron, and coal, and that sort of thing came out of them.
“Why,” answered the voice, “I get a home out of it. What more should
you want, I’d like to know? If you mean what do I bring out of it, I
bring out or push out the earth. I am teaching the little ones how to
do it now, so they can be smart when they grow up. They are quick to
learn and know so much that I have just put up that sign.”
“But if it is not a real mine where you get metals or minerals to sell,
why should you need a sign?” asked the Ant.
“Well,” said the soft, deep voice, “it looks stylish, I think. I don’t
know of any other reason.”
“But you haven’t any eyes, have you?” questioned the Ant. “I can’t see
any, at least not from here. So how do you know it looks stylish?”
Then the little creature put his head down near Anthony Ant, and showed
him such bright little eyes where they did not show much that the
brightness made Anthony blink.
[Illustration: _“I am a Mole,” said a soft, deep voice_]
“I am a Mole,” said that soft, deep voice, “and I am not so blind as
the world thinks. I never could have made so fine a place as Molesworth
Hall if I had been really blind, you know. Now, could I?”
“I should be better able to answer that question if I had seen your
home inside, but all I’ve seen is the entrance,” replied the Ant.
“That’s so,” said the Mole.
“But,” asked Anthony, “what do you have the word ‘LIMITED’ on your sign
for?”
“It seems to be the style with some big advertisers in the newspapers,”
answered the Mole. “That’s the only reason, for when you come right
down to the matter there is nothing limited about my home. I could make
my halls as big as I chose if I wanted to work long enough. I could
tunnel across the whole field if I wished, but ‘LIMITED’ looks stylish
and grand on a sign, I think.”
“But were you expecting others to dig in your mines?” asked Anthony.
“You asked me if I was looking for a job, you know.”
“Of course I did,” said Mr. Mole. “Everyone worth while has a job of
some sort, and you looked worth while. But you were sitting doing
nothing when I found you, so I thought you were out of luck and had
lost your job, whatever it was. Though you are pretty small, I could
give you something to do to earn your supper at least.”
“But I have my supper in my lunch basket,” said Anthony.
“Let me see it,” demanded Mr. Mole. So the Ant opened his basket.
“Now, look here,” said the Mole, “there isn’t a thing in here that
won’t keep all right for tomorrow. So keep it for tomorrow if you are
wise, and just buck up--as they say in the newspapers I find blown
into this field sometimes--buck up, I say, and be a man, and do a
few hours’ work for me, and earn your supper. Save that lunch for the
tomorrow that may find you hard up for food that is not always to be
had for the wishing.”
“Very well,” agreed the Ant, “and thank you. What is the work?”
“We are running a short gallery through a little section of Molesworth
Hall,” said Mr. Mole, “and, though you are small and cannot carry much
at a time, the short gallery is near the entrance and you won’t have
far to tramp. You look like a good digger, and the earth is soft. Even
if you won’t be much of a help to me, I’m glad to offer you a good
supper for what you carry out before then.”
“All right,” said the Ant, and followed the Mole into the cave.
Inside, he met Mrs. Mole and the little Moles, and they were kind to
him and showed him the wonderful passageways of Molesworth Hall. Then
they scurried off to their work, and the Ant began to labor where he
was taken by Mr. Mole.
Now Anthony Ant was too battered and sore to feel much like working. He
felt lame all over, and the bumps and bruises were pretty bad. But it
would never do to let Mr. Mole think him somebody not worth while, so
he never rested once from the time he started. Mr. Mole, who, unknown
to Anthony Ant, was watching him all the time from around the corner of
the main passage, and who had guessed that the Ant had run away from a
good home for some foolish reason, had to smile to see how plucky the
little chap was.
It was a pretty weary Ant that took out his last load that night and
then washed up outside the cave. The dew was already on the grass, and
the cool wetness of it felt good when he washed his face and all his
hands. When he was clean enough to suit himself, he went in and found
Mr. and Mrs. Mole and the little Moles eating supper. They helped him
to bits of roots Mrs. Mole had prepared some way or other, and a sip
of herb tea rested him a lot. They told him he was welcome to stay
all night too, but he thanked them and said he thought he would go a
little farther on his way. So they went to the door with him and said
good night in their soft, deep voices, and wished him luck, and the
last they saw of him, he was looking back and waving. The last he saw
of them, they made a happy, contented family picture as they all stood
together in the doorway of the MOLESWORTH DEEP-MINING COMPANY, LIMITED.
A VENTURE WITH A PASS
Poor, tired Anthony Ant did not get so far away from Molesworth Hall
that night as he thought he would before stopping to sleep, and when he
finally did stop he had a most terrible night.
At first he walked as far as he thought he ought to for the time, and
looked about for a something or other that might make a good bed.
There was a fine little clump of sweet fern, and he thought he would
tuck himself up in one of the fragrant leaves of it where he ought to
rest happily and safely all night. He unstrapped his dressing case and
lunch basket and hunted up his toothbrush, and with the dew and his
Marsh-Mint Dental Cream he brushed his teeth as carefully as though
his mother were there to see him. You know that any Ant that never
forgets to brush his teeth with dew and Marsh-Mint Dental Cream night
and morning will not have to go to the dentist for many a day. He had
learned it was always safer to hang on to his things, so he took good
care to have them where he could grab the handles of basket and case in
a hurry. Then he climbed into a dry leaf of sweet fern near the ground.
Now, in the field there was a fine band concert going on. All the
zoomers, and the buzzoons, and the zippers, and the drummerinos, and
flutes, and zingers, and violins, and the other instruments were going
hard and fast. Such a grand lullaby you never heard before, and the
moonlight was enough to make any Fairy that ever lived in a fairy ring
want to get out there and dance to the music. Anthony Ant thought he
was going to have a fine sleep, and was just closing his eyes for the
next to the last blink before really dropping to sleep, when something
moved near him and made him grab his things and run away trembling for
all he was worth. Maybe it was not a thing that would hurt him at all,
but he thought it was and he would not look back to see what the thing
was that moved.
Then he crawled under a dry leaf on the ground. He had slept safely
enough under dry leaves before, and now his heart stopped beating so
hard. He was about to sleep after all, when some night creature of
the field stepped on the edge of the leaf and pinched poor Anthony so
hard he had to squeal in spite of himself. The creature passed on, but
Anthony Ant got out from under that leaf as fast as ever he could.
After standing as long as he could on his tired feet, he sat down on a
tiny stick and leaned back against the stem of a weed. Anything might
come along and step on him, and that very instant he had to dodge, for
a Bat swooped down too near the ground in his mad fluttering in the
air, knocked the stem of the weed flat with his big wing, and scared
the Ant more than ever.
Shaking with fright, the Ant hid under the edge of a big stone and did
not dare to move. If he were only at home now in Ant-Hill Manor where
always there was a little night-light burning in an outer gallery so
that little Ants that woke up in the night were not frightened when
they saw the light, but knew they were safe at home all right! The
moonlight was bright, to be sure, but out here in the big world it was
too bright, and too blue-iferous, if you know what that word means.
This blue-iferousness made such awful shadows of things that might
catch you if they saw you. He was too scared now ever to sleep that
night, he knew.
So he huddled himself into a forlorn little ball near the outer edge of
the stone, for he did not know what might be back under it, and there
he stayed, and listened to every horrible, creepy sound, and watched
every scary, moving shadow until all at once a nice smooth voice said,
“Why, you poor little thing! What is the matter?”
The Ant saw that what he had thought was a goblin shadow, or something
more than just plain awful and horrible Night, was one of those
soothing August Croakers he had heard at the band concert near the
brook. The pale green insect was resting awhile on a grass stalk.
“O sir,” answered Anthony Ant, “the Night is a terrible thing! I am so
scared my teeth just won’t keep from clattering together. Hear them?”