"I believe I'll ride to the barn with the 

 children." A few jumps and he reached 

 some hay that the hay loader was just 

 going to put on the wagon. Up he went. 



"I just escaped being squeezed to 

 death, thank goodness," he said to him- 

 self, and tried his wings to see if they 

 were in good order. 



When they reached the barn he 

 jumped out of the hay and hid in a cor- 

 ner for he was afraid the big turkey 

 gobbler might get him if he went out to 

 look at the barn-vard. He waited until 

 the pigs were being fed toward evening 

 and all the chickens and turkeys went to 

 get a taste; then jump, jump, jump, he 

 went to the house and waited until he 

 got a chance to steal in. Then he hid 

 himself in a Corner of the sitting room. 



In the evening after supper Aunt Dor- 

 othy came. She was fond of birds, flow- 

 ers and insects and the cricket must have 

 thought so when he heard her admiring 

 the pink bind-weed blossoms. , 



"I believe I'll play a little tune for 

 her," said he, and jumped out on the 

 floor where the fragrant breeze coming 

 through the open window could fan him. 

 "Crick, crick, crick," he played. 



"Oh, listen to the cricket, children," 

 said Aunt ^Dorothy. "Get a tumbler, 

 Melodv dear, and we'll take a look at 

 Mr. Cricket." 



The cricket looked with his three little 

 eyes at Melody when she brought in the 

 tumbler, and wondered what was going 

 to happen. 



"Now," said Aunt Dorothy, "we'll 

 have to be very careful not to hurt him," 

 and she spread a paper on the floor in 

 front of the cricket and as she expected 

 he jumped on to it. Then she covered 

 him with the glass and carefully moved 

 him. to the table under the hanging lamp. 

 Poor Mr. Cricket was frightened. He 

 jumped against the glass two or three 

 times and then sat still to think what was 

 best to do. Then Aunt Dorothy knelt 



down by the table and the children got 

 down, too, and she raised the edge of 

 the glass a little and blew in under, and 

 "crick, crick, crick," Mr. Cricket was 

 playing his accordion. His outer wings 

 were lifted up at an angle of forty-five de- 

 grees and the under gauzy ones, which 

 were folded together like a fan, went in 

 and out like the sides of the tiny Japanese 

 music box which Aunt Dorothy had 

 given Melody on her ninth birthday the 

 summer before. 



"The cricket's manner of singing is 

 called 'stridulating,' " said Aunt Dorothy 

 to the children. "He has a little file and 

 scraper up there in his wings and when 

 the wind blows on them he can play 

 without any effort, though it is pos- 

 sible for him to play without the motion 

 of air through his wings; or he can 

 if he wishes close his heavy leather 

 wings so closely over the gauze ones as 

 to shut out the air if he faces the direc- 

 tion from which the breeze is blowing." 



"What are those long, black threads 

 on his head called, Aunt Dorothy?" said 

 Melody. "They are antennae. Many 

 insects have little buttons or knobs on the 

 end of their antenae but the grasshopper 

 and cricket never have. 



"Tomorrow I'll go to' the hay field 

 with you and take my microscope and 

 we'll catch a cricket and look at his ears. 

 They are on his legs instead of on the 

 sides of his head." Then she carried 

 Mr. Cricket to the door and let him jump 

 away in the moonlight and hide himself. 

 A big speckled hen came very near 

 catching him for her breakfast next 

 morning before he had a chance to jump 

 into a wisp of hay left over in the big 

 wagon and ride back to the hay field. 



He was glad to get back, where he 

 could tell his experiences to< the other 

 crickets who were eating roots and won- 

 dering what had become of their com- 



panion. 



Mary Grant O'Sheridan. 



