ground lights," with its busy unconcern 

 of affairs which it could not share or 

 even comprehend. Rarely when the 

 fire warmed the bricks about the fire 

 place did comely, plump Mrs. Acre 

 Tidae fail to raise her song. She had 

 a way of building a home had Mrs. 

 House Cricket. She tossed out a few 

 grains of earth from under the brick 

 tiling of the hearth and presto! she 

 entered in backward and sat down wav 

 ing her long slender antennae with 

 a happy content that would shame 

 many a one who, having more, is not 

 satisfied. Mr. Field Cricket, who hap 

 pens also to be named Acre Tidae, had 

 built his home at the edge of the path 

 in the sandy loam just without the door. 

 Two bodies of the same name and 

 family would be expected to live in the 

 same house, but they couldn't quite 

 come to do that on account of tastes. 

 For one thing they differed in the 

 matter of dress, though that was the 

 least objection one to the other. Mrs. 

 House Cricket wore a grayish yellow 

 dress, marked a little with brown and 

 Mr Field Cricket wore darker colors. 

 He built his home deeper, too, which 

 would never suit Mrs. Acre Tidae at 

 all. Sometimes his home is twelve 

 inches deep, and six it is sure to be. 

 And then, big fellow that he is, quite a 

 bit larger than she, he does not mind 

 the cold. He snuggles down in the 

 deep darkness as soon as he sees the 

 dew frozen in the tiny crystals all over 

 the long grass blades, and sleeps the 

 time away, however long and cold the 

 winter may be; and such a life is scorned 

 by bright Mrs. House Cricket, who 

 chooses the hearth on account of 

 the warmth and who chirps joyfully 

 throughout the year, except when the 

 fire goes out, as it often does in the 

 little old log house; for there were days 

 and days when the children did not 

 come to play. At such times Mrs. 

 House Cricket was forced unwillingly 

 to fall asleep. "Shameful!" she would 

 mutter, as the last flicker of feeling de 

 parted. "Such a waste of time. If I 

 had built in a bakery or by a brick oven 

 how much busier I might be and hap 

 pier. I'm no better than those cousins 

 of mine who make it a business to sleep 

 half the year around." These'last words 



were so soft as she scraped them off on 

 the ridges of her wing covers that the 

 children, who were just going home, 

 stopped and Linsey said, " Do hear the 

 cricket it says, 'Good night; good 

 night.'" 



"By-by, Crick!" called Harry, as he 

 leaped through the hedge and ran to 

 the brook to stamp on the thin ice with 

 his heel. "I shall move out," moaned 

 Mrs. Cricket with her faintest note. 

 But moving day did not arrive for many 

 weeks and Mrs. Cricket awoke and went 

 to sleep as many times; and finally the 

 long hot days found her contentedly 

 basking in the field among the warm 

 grasses, having forgotten the troubles 

 of the winter. " Dear me," she was 

 softly drumming with her wing covers 

 as she stopped in her evening search 

 for food. "Dear, dear! how that big 

 cousin of mine does scream! Perhaps 

 he calls it music, but I don't." 



She crept along slowly and hid in a 

 fold of rain-worn paper near the home 

 of her much criticized relative. He 

 was sitting in his doorway singing his 

 evening song as loud as he could, for 

 he was singing with a purpose. The 

 source of his music lay within his wing 

 covers. Nearly one hundred and thirty 

 fine ridges were on the under side of 

 one wing cover (which is hard and 

 horny), and these are hastily scraped 

 over a smooth nervure which projects 

 from the under side of the other wing 

 cover. And that is how he sings. His 

 song is bound to be a love-song and 

 Mrs. House Cricket finding a few 

 crumbs within the paper and deciding 

 to stay all night suddenly heard the 

 loud, harsh tones softened and, looking 

 out, she saw her big cousin standing 

 close to another dark form like his own. 

 He was crooning softly as he caressed 

 her with his slender, delicate antennae 

 his mate, whom he had won to himself 

 with his song. Mrs. House Cricket 

 looked on for a moment and changed 

 her mind about staying all night. " I'll 

 creep under a leaf," she said, " and 

 leave the lovers to themselves." So 

 she slipped away and saw them no more 

 until, some weeks later, she passed and, 

 seeing her cousin in his door, 

 stopped: 



"I have all my eggs laid," she said,. 



161 



