Chirpy Cricket was so fond of fiddling that sometimes he was the last of
all the big Cricket family to stop making music and go home to bed. Now
and then he lingered so long above the ground that the dawn caught him
before he crept into his hole in the ground, beneath the straw. And one
morning it was getting so light before he had played enough to suit him
that he crawled into a crack in Farmer Green's garden. It looked like a
comfortable place to spend the day. And he thought it would be foolish
for him to do much travelling at that hour, because there was no telling
when an early bird might spy--and pounce upon--him.
He found his retreat quite to his liking. Nothing had happened to disturb
his rest. And if he had only had time to carry a few blades of grass into
the crack, to eat between naps, Chirpy would have had nothing to wish
for.
Late in the afternoon, however, a most unusual thing took place. Chirpy
Cricket noticed a sound as of some one digging. It grew louder and louder
as he listened. And it was not in the least like the scratching of a hen,
looking for grubs and worms. This noise was deep down in the ground and
like nothing Chirpy had ever heard.
He wished that he had not allowed himself to become so fond of fiddling.
If he had cared less for it, he would have gone home in good season. But
there he was in a crack in the garden! And he didn't dare leave it
because he had heard that the garden was a famous place for birds.
Chirpy Cricket was frightened. And when at last the loose earth near him
began to quiver and even to crumble he was so scared that he didn't know
which way to move. The next instant a strange looking person stood before
him. And for a few moments neither one of them said a word.
The newcomer was a big fellow, very long and with enormous legs. His
front legs especially were short and powerful, with huge feet at the end
of them. And yet, odd as the stranger was, Chirpy could not help noticing
that somehow he had a look like the Cricket family.
"Well," said the stranger at last, "you seem surprised. Perhaps you
weren't expecting callers."
"No, I wasn't," Chirpy Cricket answered in a voice that was faint from
the fright he had had.
"But you're glad to see me, I hope," the stranger went on. "You know I'm
related to you. You know I'm a sort of cousin of yours."
"Is that so?" Chirpy Cricket cried. "I did think for a moment that there
was a slight family resemblance. But the longer I look at you the queerer
you seem. May I ask your name?"
"I'm Mr. Mole Cricket," said the stranger. "And I don't need to inquire
who you are. You're one of the well-known Field Cricket family."