A, CRICKET STORY. 



The first load of hay had been stowed 

 away in the big red barn when Mead 

 and Melody had finished their breakfast 

 and were ready to ride out to the hay 

 field in the great, wide rack drawn by 

 Topsy and Nell. 



"Wait for us, Joe," called Mead to the 

 m?n who was driving. ''Mother says we 

 may spend the day making hay, for you 

 know this is my birthday and I'm seven 

 years old. Sister isn't going to have her 

 music lesson. We're just going to play- 

 all day." 



"All right, little man," said Joe, as 

 he reached down and lifted Melody safely 

 into the rack. And it was only a mo- 

 ment afterward when Mead had climbed 

 in without any help at all. 



The pigs and chickens and even the 

 old turkey gobbler ran hither and thither 

 making way for the hay wagon. Topsy, 

 the sorrel colt, shook her beautiful thick 

 yellow mane and looked as if haymaking- 

 was a real pleasure for her. 



"Drive through the orchard, Joe, 

 please, that is the nearest way," said Mel- 

 ody, "and we can get some harvest ap- 

 ples." When they got to the big tree 

 near the gate, "Whoa, Topsy," said Joe, 

 and handing the reins to Mead he 

 jumped out. "You stay in the wagon, 

 children, and I'll pick up the apples." 



"It was the big wind last night that 

 blew down so many apples," said Mel- 

 ody. A big red one hung on a branch 

 near Topsy's head : "Help yourself, 

 Topsy," said Mead, and just then Topsy 

 reached up and snapped off the apple. 



"Nell must have one, too," said Mel- 

 ody. "You'll give her one, won't you, 

 Joe?" So Joe gave Nell an apple which 

 was just as big and red as the one Topsy 

 had picked for herself. 



"What is that out in the field?" said 

 Mead. It looks like Grandpa's big barn- 

 yard gate standing on end." "That is 

 the new hayloader," said Joe. "The hay- 

 loader! Now we'll have fun sure," said 

 Melodv. "Brother and I watched all dav 



yesterday for it. Grandpa thought the 

 men would bring it from the city but 

 they didn't, and we wondered and won- 

 dered what it would look like." 



It was not long before with the help 

 of the hay-loader the wagon was ready 

 for a return trip to the barn. Melody 

 had picked some lovely pink bind-weed 

 blossoms from the vines that covered the 

 wire fence near by. 



These were for mother, who was too 

 busy to come to the hay field, but who 

 would be very happy to think her little 

 daughter remembered how she loved 

 flowers. 



"This is as comfortable as the big 

 couch in the parlor," said Mead when 

 they were seated on top of the load, and 

 started for the barn. 



"Yes," said Melody, "and I suppose 

 you like it better because you are not told 

 to keep your feet off." 



"Mead pretended not to hear this. He 

 seemed to be listening for something. 

 "Could it be a bird," he thought. "Lis- 

 ten, Melody, what is that? Crick, crick, 

 crick." 



"It's a cricket, Mead ; don't you re- 

 member those little black jumpers that 

 we saw in the hay last year ?" 



"Crick, crick, crick," said the cricket. 

 "I wonder where he is," said Mead. 

 They looked in vain for the little black 

 passenger and at last forgot all about 

 him. He had been eating roots and play- 

 ing a game something like leap-frog, 

 with some other little black crickets, near 

 the bind-weed vines and he listened with 

 his two little ears, which were down on 

 his legs, to the children talking about the 

 fine ride they were to have on the load of 

 hay and how pleasant when the days 

 grew chilly in autumn to play in the barn 

 and to stay in the kitchen a while on 

 winter evenings and listen to Joe play 

 on his accordion. 



"Well," thought the cricket, "I won- 

 der what they would think of my accor- 

 dion," and "crick, crick, crick," he said. 



