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 fallasleep. ‘‘Shameful!” she would 
mutter, as the last flicker of feeling de- 
parted... Such, avwaste.om time, It] 
had built in a bakery or bya brick oven 
how much busier I might be—and hap- 
pier. I’m no better than those cousins 
of mine who make ita business to sleep 
half the year around.” These last words 
161 
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 onthe 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; THe 
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. ‘T’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: 
“T have all my eggs laid,” she said, 
