128 ON WILD ROSE'S HIGHWAY 



in the path and chirped and chirped. His note is 

 always loud and bold, and at that minute we could 

 hear nothing else. 



" There are very many noises to-day, aren't 

 there ? " I whispered to Grandmother. 



" It only seems so," she whispered back, " be- 

 cause we want to hear the voice." 



" These thorns are your body-guard, Rosie." 



Then Grandmother whispered to me that it 

 was true they kept insects from crawling up its 

 stem and stealing the golden dust; and that cows 

 couldn't eat its pretty leaves on account of the 

 thorns. 



After a while the wind and the tree-toad grew 

 more still, although then the cricket began his 

 chirp. I picked up a little pebble and threw it 

 where I thought he might be, and after that he 

 was as quiet as a mouse. This time we heard the 

 voice plainly: 



" You have no one to do you up in straw when 

 winter comes, as Herr Wllhelm Fritz does the 

 garden rose bushes." 



Grandmother smiled at me again, for this time 

 we were sure the voice was Tommy's and that 

 he was talking to Wild Rose. 



Then the cricket forgot about the pebble I had 

 thrown, and cried out, in a voice shriller than 

 ever. 



" Dear me," Grandmother whispered, " that 

 cricket is most persistent." 



