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There was no denying that it was his voice. He always talked through his nose or so it sounded. And one couldn't mistake it. Chirpy Cricket began to think that after all he would rather not have a talk with Mr. Nighthawk. He certainly sounded terrible! Meanwhile Mr. Nighthawk alighted in a tree right over Chirpy's head, and settled himself lengthwise along a limb. He was, indeed, an odd person.
Not by a single movement of any kind did he show that he was alive. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?" Chirpy Cricket called to Mr. Cricket Frog from the bank of the duck-pond. Ever since a splash near-by had interrupted their talk, Mr. Cricket Frog had not swum a single stroke. He was floating, motionless, upon the surface of the water. And he made no reply whatever to Chirpy's questions.
Buster Bumblebee grunted when he heard that. To tell the truth, he didn't care much for Chirpy's voice, which he considered altogether too shrill. "Are you going to take part in the procession?" Chirpy asked him. "I'll let you know to-morrow," said Buster Bumblebee. "Ah, but that will be too late!" Chirpy cried. "We're going to have the procession to- night." "To-night!" Buster exclaimed.
Cricket Frog puffed out his yellow throat and began to sing. And he gave Chirpy Cricket a great surprise. For his singing was so like Chirpy's fiddling that Chirpy thought for a moment he was making the sound himself. But there was one marked difference. Mr. Cricket Frog's time was not like his. It was not regular. Mr.
Then, no doubt, you'll be all ready to play a tune for me." Chirpy Cricket had to explain that he had been playing a tune all the time that he always played on one note. So Mr. Meadow Mouse stayed and heard more of the fiddling. He begged Chirpy's pardon for his mistake. And he said that if he only had a fiddle he should like to learn the same tune himself.
And ever afterward he was fond of repeating Chirpy's remark, in a boasting way, until his neighbors were heartily tired of hearing it. One night when Chirpy Cricket was fiddling his prettiest, not far from the fence between the farmyard and the meadow, he had a queer feeling, as if somebody were gazing at him.
Anyhow, there was no doubt that Timothy Turtle believed in a long life and a grumpy one. All Chirpy's relations were of the same mind as he. They acted as if they would rather make the nights ring with their music than do anything else.
Chirpy found Tommy Tree Cricket in the tangle of raspberry bushes beyond the garden. It was not hard to tell where he was, because he was a famous fiddler. He played a tune that was different from Chirpy's cr-r-r-i! cr-r-r-i! cr-r-r-i! Tommy Tree Cricket fiddled re-teat! re-teat! re-teat! And many considered him a much finer musician than Chirpy himself. He was small and pale.
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