I just came from that way. It doesn’t take an airplane like me long to
get as far as the brook, you see. But it would take any one as little
as you without wings a good long time, I should think. I should guess
you had part of another day’s journey ahead of you if you started right
off. Are you in a tearing hurry to get there?”
“Well, the sooner I do, the sooner I shall get back to Ant-Hill Manor,”
said the Ant, “and I cannot get there any too soon to suit me.” And he
told the Dragon Fly all about his coming away from home and everything.
“Well, well!” said the Dragon Fly. “I don’t blame you for wanting to
get back. Now that is a funny thing. It never would do at all for me
to go back to the place where I was born. I could not possibly live
there.”
“Why not?” asked the Ant.
“Because,” was the Dragon Fly’s answer, “I was born down in the marsh
where I was first a water creature living under the water, and crawling
about sort of buglike and sort of wormlike, I suppose, till I was
old enough to crawl up a weed, and sit and dream by the hour. Then I
suddenly found I was the owner of these wings which I did not have when
I was living in the water. So I crawled right up into the air, and my
wings dried to this lovely gauze. The sun put into them all the colors
of the rainbow. Here I have lived ever since, around these cat-tails
where I can sail up and off for ever and ever so far to see the sights,
and then come back here to sit and think about it all. But I never
could live in the water again where I was born, you see, or I should
drown.”
“That is so,” said the Ant. “And what is the best thing you have seen
in your air trips?”
“The best thing I have seen in any sort of trip I ever have taken is
the sun,” replied the Dragon Fly. “There is nothing that can match
it--not even the moon on the loveliest night when the Whippoorwill
calls, and the Owl cries, and the Bat frisks, and the Fireflies dance
with their lanterns, and the whole marsh is more like a Japanese
picture than like anything that possibly could be just plain marsh.
Yes, sir, the sun is the best thing in the world. I have often tried to
fly to it to thank it for my rainbow colors it gave me after my stupid
sort of life in the water.”
“It is lovely,” remarked the Ant thoughtfully, “but don’t you like the
dew too? It was lovely early this morning, and so refreshing to bathe
in. Then I thought nothing could be so lovely in the world as dew.”
“Oh, yes,” said the Dragon Fly. “Dew is all right in its way, but give
me the sun every time. The sun drinks up the dew after awhile, anyway.”
“So it does,” said the Ant. “I have noticed that.”
“By the way,” the Dragon Fly went on, “between the marsh and the brook
you want to look out for the sundew when you sit down to rest anywhere.”
“Oh, but the sun won’t hurt me,” said Anthony Ant. “It never has, and
I’ve traveled on the hottest days. As for the dew, why, it couldn’t
possibly hurt me. Haven’t I bathed in it right along?”
“Oh, I see you don’t know what I mean, but you’ll find out if you
happen to meet the sundew. You may not meet it, anyway, and if you
should, it won’t hurt you much. I know you won’t linger with it too
long, and you are strong.”
“What is it like?” asked the Ant.
The Dragon Fly chuckled.
“I’m not going to tell you,” was his answer. “Just for fun, I’m going
to let you find out for yourself. Don’t be alarmed, though. I’d surely
tell you if it was too dangerous for you. It is for smaller things than
you. I’ll risk you. Anyway, you may not even see a glimpse of it. Lots
of people spend too much time thinking about unpleasant things that
after all never happen to them, so don’t waste a second’s thought on
it. Good luck to you!” And away he sailed to take a nearer look at the
sun.
THE ANT VENTURE OF THE DRAGON FLY’S TRICK
Thoughtfully Anthony Ant crawled down the cat-tail and went on toward
the brook.
“Since I cannot reach the brook tonight, I may as well go carefully,
camp out in some pleasant spot for the night, and rest my feet so that
I shall be able to stand the way of the rough spots around the brook
more easily tomorrow,” he said to himself.
Nothing exciting happened until he came to such a spot. It was a soggy,
spongy, mossy spot in the field where the grass was not too tall, and
where the ground was a bit more moist and sweet fern made the air like
perfume.
Here Anthony Ant pulled off his shoes and stockings and hung up his hat
where he could keep an eye on it. He never had forgotten the Field
Mouse Ant Venture. Then he sat down on a comfortable-looking flat weed
that was almost like a cushion. How cosy this seat was! It seemed to
fit him exactly. As he bore his whole weight upon it the weed cushion
began to fit more and more cosily about him, he thought.
The Ant was drowsy. He thought he would take a small nap of not more
than seven or eight winks before he ate his supper. He started to get
up just to turn himself over a little more to the side, when, lo and
behold, sir, he found it easier to think about getting up than to get
up! He was held down rather too firmly by tiny red hairs that were
folding all about him from the weed cushion. That did not suit him,
you’d better believe, so he roused himself in a hurry and began to pull
himself away. He found that he was getting covered with something
sticky that helped keep him back in the clutches of the thing he had
sat down upon.
At last, by twisting and turning and kicking and pulling, he freed
himself and looked back to see the queer sort of plant that had tried
to catch him. There he saw a tiny Fly already dead from having been
folded in by those fine red hairs of another of the cushion leaves of
this strange plant.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” chuckled a good-natured voice above him. “What do you
think of sundew now?”
Anthony Ant looked up, and there sat the Dragon Fly peering down at him
through great far-seeing, horn-rimmed glasses he wore on his air trips.
“I was sailing by and thought I’d see if by any chance you had come as
far as this on your homeward way,” said he, and lighted upon a sweet
fern leaf near Anthony.
“Bring your things over here,” he continued. “Better sleep in the sweet
fern bed tonight. It’s perfectly safe. I’ll help you brush up a bit
first.”
Anthony Ant needed brushing. While the Dragon Fly helped him scrape off
the sticky stuff and wash and comb himself, with the things Anthony
had in the dressing case, the good-natured Dragon Fly told the Ant all
about sundew and how it ate up little insects it held with the sticky
stuff and the hairs that curled over things that lighted upon its
leaves.
The Ant invited the Dragon Fly to stay to supper with him, for there
was plenty for both in the lunch basket, and enough for Anthony’s
breakfast besides. The Dragon Fly was tickled to pieces over the Clover
Lodge honey. He never had tasted it before.
[Illustration: _The Ant invited the Dragon Fly to stay to supper with
him_]
After supper what do you think they did? Why, they just sat and talked
about this thing, that thing, and the other thing, until it was later
than Dragon Flies and Ants stayed up usually. The Dragon Fly told
Anthony Ant all the best of the marsh stories he could think of that
ended pleasantly. Anyway, so far as the Dragon Fly knew, he could not
tell a story that ended unpleasantly. Such stories he never remembered,
as they never cheered any one up and they left bad tastes in the
mouth, he said. But he _did_ tell the Ant about Will-o’-the-wisps; and
about the pale blue, wild iris that blossoms in the spring; and about
Red-winged Blackbirds that bring new stories from the South every
year; and about a Marsh Hen; and about the little Wild Duck that knew
something worth while; and about Frogs and what they meant by the
different noises they called across the marsh on lonely nights; and
about the murmuring of the waters around the rushes; and about the
songs in poems the rushes whispered; and about the Wind that carried
the poems to places where there were no poems. Anthony Ant thought it
all a beautiful dream.
Then the Dragon Fly said “Good night” and “Good luck” once more and
sailed off to bed in the marsh, and Anthony Ant tucked himself up in
the sweet fern. First, however, for fear there might be something he
had not yet seen that might hurt him, he put his pass out in plain
sight. He even took care to guard against any jumpy Spider that might
be around there by calling out in his loudest voice, three times, like
this: “Yellowbird! Yellowbird! Yellowbird!”
THE ANT VENTURE OF A HAPPY MEETING
Oh, but the next morning was a morning worth looking at twice! Anthony
Ant looked at it twice too. All the time he was scrubbing up he sang
the little tune he liked best as played by the phonograph at home, and
all the time he ate his breakfast he thought about the tune when he
could not sing it. He was not long in getting on his way, either. He
was homesick for a look at the brook. Who knows how much more homesick
for the home far over on the other side!
The Dragon Fly, you remember, told Anthony Ant it might not take more
than a part of the day for an Ant like Anthony to reach it. But, though
the Ant started early and traveled fast, he had to make a number of
long side trips to get out of the way of things that cluttered up his
path and to keep out of the way of several jumpy Spiders. Besides,
there were several things that chased him out of his path a number of
times and nearly caught him. So not until late in the afternoon did the
traveler come to the brook.
As Anthony Ant drew nearer and nearer the brook, he thought something
was calling him down toward the right. It was something that did not
have a voice, and yet it was something that called him so plainly that
he had to go to see what it was. And what _do_ you think the something
was? Why, nothing more nor less than a wireless message! Yes, sir,
a wireless message! It told him to come down to the right, and then
straight ahead.
He did this, and as he went on he heard the brook. It was bubbling
softly in the distance somewhere. Then, after a little more traveling,
he saw a sight that made him really toss up his hat for joy. No wonder
he had received a wireless message! Why, there was the famous rose bush
of the Wild-Rose Tea House! Oh, my! The wireless message must have been
sent by the small Spider, Size Two, or by the Ladybug herself!
He lost no more time standing there tossing up his hat, but clapped it
upon his head as fast as he could and began to climb the rose bush.
He was up at last. Ah, yes! And there sat the Ladybug and the small
Spider, Size Two, smiling for all they were worth. They had known how
to make him find the proper place for a supper that night! They had
studied broadcasting carefully, you see.
If it had not been an impolite thing to do, they would have danced
around and around to show how happy they were at meeting again. But
in a tea house so famous as the Wild-Rose Tea House you cannot get up
and jump around without making people wonder where your manners are,
you know. So they merely shook hands with a good, hard grip of all
the hands they three had, and told him his place was all set at their
table, and his supper all ordered, and they had not had theirs yet but
were waiting for him. So it was not many seconds before one of the best
suppers ever served at that famous tea house was placed before one of
the happiest parties of three that ever took place there.
“Well, well, well!” cried the small Spider, Size Two. “Your Ant
Ventures by land and sea, as they say in stories, would fill a book!
You ought to write a book about it all when you get home.”
“Yes, indeed, you surely ought to!” said the Ladybug.
Anthony Ant laughed.
“I know a place I’d never go to try to sell the book,” said he, “and
that is Mrs. Angleworm’s house. She has no use for books, I could see
that plainly!”
Anthony took out the little jar of Clover Lodge honey to add to the
treat. The keeper of this fine tea house of the Wild-Rose came to taste
it too. He said he thought it paid to help other tea houses along, and
he would order some right off, and advertise it as being used at the
Wild-Rose Tea House. It would help Clover Lodge along to have so fine
an advertisement, he knew.
The Ladybug said she would come here often, then, for her afternoon
tea, and always call for Clover Lodge honey with the delicious
Wild-Rose tea cakes he knew so well how to make. This pleased the
keeper of the tea house so much that he told them that if they would
stay for the evening he would serve them large portions of his newly
invented Wild-Rose Ice Cream free of charge. He knew they would like
to have it. At a certain table he would give them they could hear the
band concert with the brook accompaniment and have the best view of the
Firefly illumination. Though it was late in the season for Fireflies,
he had engaged some to come for the evening, and it might be worth
while. They accepted his kind invitation at once.
It was one of the happiest evenings the Ant ever knew. They talked of
the trip on the boat and wondered where the poor thing was now. The new
ice cream must have been magic. It was different from any they ever
had tasted before, and sent little thrills of joy all through them. Yet
each one somehow knew that the whole happiness of the feelings they all
had, came from the fact that Anthony Ant had at last come to his full
cure. They and he all knew he was doing the right thing in going home
hard and fast.
“I am not going to write a book when I go home,” said he thoughtfully,
before they separated that night.
“Oh, aren’t you?” asked the Ladybug. “What are you going to do?”
“Just work!” said Anthony Ant joyfully.
THE ANT VENTURE OF AN EMBROIDERED MOTTO
Good luck followed Anthony Ant all the remainder of the way home. It
even seemed not to be following him, but waiting for him ahead at
every turn. His feet did not get blistered and sore. His lunch basket
once more had been slyly filled at the Wild-Rose Tea House, but this
time by the good-natured keeper himself, who packed it with enough
nourishing things to last the Ant for the final part of the journey. A
good floating bit of stick was already waiting for him at the edge of
the brook, and soon floated gently to a small stone, and from that to
a branch that hung out from the home side of the shore. Then he had no
trouble finding the old trail to Ant-Hill Manor, and when he passed
the Angleworm’s doorway he saw no sign of her.
[Illustration: _Mrs. Angleworm turned back to get her broom_]
Now, since Anthony Ant had learned a few lessons by the way, he
thought all at once about the nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee’s
good, kind trick. He decided, for fun, to play a nice, good trick on
Mrs. Angleworm. He took one of the prettiest of the cakes from the
Wild-Rose Tea House and then rapped at the doorway. Out she soon came.
“Mercy, gracious!” she cried. “Here’s that horrid book agent again!”
She turned back to get her broom, but Anthony Ant bowed politely, and
said, “Oh, do wait just a minute! I am not an agent for anything, and
here is something free of charge to prove it!”
He held out the cake, and when she saw that, she did not know what to
say. She took the cake, as he insisted, and she said she was sorry. You
see she had caught sight of the motto in his hat: “DON’T GET ANGRY AT
NOTHING AT ALL, AND DON’T GET ANGRY AT ANYTHING!” Besides, she saw the
other motto: “DON’T BE AFRAID OF WORK!” Even if the Ant was an agent,
it was his work, maybe, and of course he must not be afraid of it. She
wished him good luck if he ever did sell books, anyway.
It was that very day, and still morning, when Anthony Ant stole up to
the high ground above Ant-Hill Manor and peeked down at it. What a
happy lump came up into his throat! What a dear place it was!
Ah, there they were, all busy at work. And there was the tool house
with door wide open as it was until time to put back the wheelbarrows
at night, though it should have been closed each time to keep out any
dampness. He knew that when it was left open like this his little
sister, Antonia, was the one to blame. She always forgot to close that
tool-house door.
He knew what he would do! He would steal down behind it, and crawl
around it to the open door. When they did not see him, he would get out
his own little wheelbarrow--he could see it near the door--and, without
letting them see him at first, he would work till they found him out!
[Illustration: _Anthony knew what he would do! He would get out his own
little wheelbarrow_]
He had no trouble carrying out this plan. He had been working for an
hour before one of them stopped to look up at all, and then suddenly
discovered him.
“Why, here’s Anthony back again!” cried the discoverer.
Then, I can tell you, they crowded about him! They dragged him inside
to Mother Ant. Then they all had a surprise. Nothing surprises mothers
much, as you may find out some day. Long before, she had had all kinds
of wireless messages. Don’t ask how, for I don’t know exactly, except
that they are always inside mothers, somehow. So there was a fine party
waiting for them all in a thicket near Ant-Hill Manor. To this thicket
she led the way.
There, whether you believe it or not, the noon meal was spread. At the
head of the table, ready to carve, was none other than Dr. Alexander
Beetle Bug!
Were there other invited guests? Well, I should say there were! And
there they sat. Even the Angleworm was there; and the jumpy monstrous
Spider that had become gentle; and the fussy, fuzzy Caterpillar; and
the Ladybug; the small Spider, Size Two; the Mole of Molesworth Hall;
the August Croaker; the Robin; the Squirrel; the Flicker, who promised
not to touch an Ant today; the Grasshopper; the Firefly; the Woodchuck
and all the creatures that were kept from the rain in Hollow-Log Inn;
the nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee; the Yellowbird; and the Dragon
Fly.
Oh, what a time they had! Anthony Ant sat at the end of the table with
his mother. Everyone laughed and talked at once and had the best time
you can imagine.
Not everyone is rewarded for doing the right thing as Anthony Ant
was--that is, not by receiving presents and being praised, and all that
sort of thing. But Anthony Ant knew inside his bones that it was reward
enough just to come back to his good little wheelbarrow again. He had
had all the change he wanted!
[Illustration: _The insects suddenly tuned up, to the joy of everyone_]
The celebration had to last until after dusk for a special reason. That
reason was that the night insects could come with their surprise. They
had read the wireless messages. Wishing to add something of their own
to the joy, they stole into that thicket until, unseen by the company,
they had surrounded the merrymakers, and at a signal from all the
Fireflies they could muster so late in the season they suddenly tuned
up, to the joy of everyone. You never heard such a serenade in all your
life, I am sure!
In the midst of the enjoyment the Ladybug handed Anthony Ant something
in a large paper. He looked inside, and there was the motto she had
promised, all framed! It was embroidered in a new stitch that looked as
your mouth looks when you smile--a curve with the points turning up.
“I could not embroider the motto in _cross_-stitch,” said she. “I
preferred to make it _pleasant_-stitch instead.”
And so to this day, in Ant-Hill Manor, there hangs, nicely framed and
most delicately embroidered in pleasant-stitch, this motto:
“NEVER THINK OF THE GOOD-BY PART OF A PLEASURE UNTIL THE GOOD-BY PART
COMES!”
That is one reason why I am not going to say a word about the good-by
part of this party. I should much rather have you sit and chuckle
at the way Dr. Alexander Beetle Bug is digging the nice old fubbly
gentleman Bumblebee in the ribs instead of feeling his pulse, while
they both giggle and buzzle over old jokes they knew when they were but
young Beetle Buglet and Bumblebeelet. And I should much rather have you
listen to the music of those joyous insects with their flutes, violins,
zippers, and zingers, and zoomers, and buzzoons, and drummerinos, and
all the funny instruments only night insects know how to play. If you
look and listen until it all soaks right into your mind, you will know
how wonderful was that very most greatest peace of Anthony Ant!
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Perceived typographical errors have been changed.