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People began to notice that he even stopped fiddling sometimes, to stare at Freddie Firefly. At last Chirpy Cricket made up his mind that if he was ever going to borrow the light he would have to ask Freddie for it. Several nights passed before he could think of a good reason for using it. But after a while he thought of a fine one. So he went straight to Freddie Firefly.
I will see you into the train at this end, and they will meet you at the other with the cart. It's three miles from the railway." As they passed out together, he added meditatively, "I think you'll like the old mill, Chirpy. It's thatched." "I'm sure I shall," she answered earnestly.
Nighthawk must dash himself to pieces upon the ground, right where Chirpy Cricket crouched and trembled, he had spread his wings and checked his fall. It was the air, rushing through his wing-feathers with great force, that made the queer, hollow sound. That was why Mr. Nighthawk claimed that he made the booming on a wind instrument.
She had expected to find a crowd at the house in Hyde Park Crescent, and she was surprised when she was ushered into the drawing-room to find only four people present. Mrs. Cole-Mortimer was a chirpy, pale little woman of forty-something. It would be ungallant to say how much that "something" represented. She came toward Lydia with outstretched hands.
And Daddy Longlegs asked him if he had eaten something that disagreed with him. "No!" replied Joseph Bumble. "I've been interrupted. And it's hardly the sort of treatment a person of royal blood like myself expects to receive at a party." "Who interrupted you?" Chirpy Cricket inquired. "I don't know," Joseph Bumble answered. "But someone was talking in a loud voice."
Mole Cricket seemed to consider that an odd question. "Bless you!" he exclaimed. "There's everything to eat in the ground everything anybody could possibly want. Wherever I tunnel I find tender roots. You know Farmer Green grows fine vegetables here. Indeed that's one reason I live under his garden." "If that's one reason, what's another?" Chirpy Cricket asked him.
Or, at least, you are not going to. Look here, Chirpy, my dear, I think you must let me carry you, anyhow to the caravan. It isn't far, and I can fetch you some slippers from the mill from there. What? You don't mind, do you? An old friend like me, and a poor relation into the bargain?" The blue eyes smiled at her quizzically, and very persuasively.
"But if I'm to stay in the procession I certainly can't sit on this banner any longer. And besides, if I'm going to call on Farmer Green's wife I shall have to travel faster than we're moving now." Since they were then standing stock-still in the meadow, there was a good deal of truth in what Freddie Firefly said. "But you don't need to call on Mrs. Green!" Chirpy Cricket cried.
"But there will be plenty of time to think about that to- morrow. Let us go on now to the beach, or it will be too late for us to do so before dinner." "Come on then, I'm yours obediently," said the Captain with his usual chirpy chuckle. "By Jove, though, I think I've had pretty nearly walking enough for one day for an old fellow turned sixty."
"Whither are you going?" said he to the carnival horseman. Simplex held a quill to his mouth, and squeaked through it in a thin, chirpy, birdlike voice: "We are going to bury the dead carnival." But Augustus Zwirina was a knowing man, and he had his suspicions. "Let me see if this carnival is really dead," said he. And with that he tore the cover from the face of the figure lying in the coffin.
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