The Cricket's Friends Part 1

The Cricket's Friends.

by Virginia W. Johnson.

THE CRICKET'S FRIENDS.

The Club were all curiosity for some time to see the new members who were to be introduced into the select circle.

"I am afraid of spiders," remarked the Teapot, with a lady-like shiver.

"If a caterpillar touched me, I should run a mile," exclaimed the Saucepan.

"None of them can reach me," laughed the Kettle with a gurgle of satisfaction.

At last the Cricket marched the strangers in one night, and gave them places about the hearth.

"Allow me," said he, flourishing his right feeler in the air, "to introduce to you, friends, some very distinguished additions to our number,--the travelled Spider, the disappointed Caterpillar, and the ambitious Wasp."

"How do you all do?" inquired the Kettle very politely, for the Saucepan and Teapot seemed rather stiff in their manners.

"Very well, thank you," growled the Spider.

"Quite so," croaked the Caterpillar.

"In excellent spirits," echoed the Wasp, folding his gauzy wings in a satisfied way.

"If it is agreeable to the rest, I propose your all joining the Club,"

continued the Cricket briskly.

"Certainly," a.s.sented the Kettle; "the more the merrier, you know."

"I think we should be extremely careful about admitting strangers to our circle, unless they bring letters of introduction," said the Teapot primly.

As for the Saucepan, she contented herself with looking sideways at the Caterpillar, and coughing contemptuously. This was not very pleasant; so the Cricket trotted up to the two rebellious members, and gave them a pretty sharp lecture upon the laws of courtesy and good breeding, which served effectually to make them ashamed of themselves. The visitors now became angry, and began to talk together of leaving without delay, which naturally distressed the good-hearted president, who was so much affected by a desire to do something pleasant, that he swung himself wildly upon the hook, and thereby sprinkled those below with a stream of scalding water.

"Mercy!" shrieked the Wasp, dancing on one foot in an agony.

"Oh, my back!" groaned the Caterpillar, rolling himself about in a ball.

"What ails you, Kettle?" cried the poor Cricket, running about with his eye almost put out from receiving a whole drop in it. "Do keep your hot water to yourself."

The Spider alone was unhurt; so he merely shook himself, and sat chuckling at the discomfiture of the others.

After doing all this mischief, the Kettle subsided, with many meek apologies.

"We can give you references enough, if that is all you want," said the Wasp snappishly; "but we had better leave, I think, comrades, before we have another hot bath. My hind leg is completely disabled."

"Do not go," urged the Cricket. "We should enjoy your society so much, I am sure, when we become better acquainted."

The three visitors looked at each other in silence for a time; then the Spider said,--

"I have just returned home, and, as it is so near, I do not mind running in to spend the evening; so I will join the Club."

"I will also," said the Caterpillar in a dismal tone of voice, "only I am not very good company for any one now."

"Dear me," said the Wasp, airily, "I shall not promise to remain any longer than I am amused."

The Teapot and Saucepan became more amiable in their behavior as the evening advanced, and the Cricket hastened to a.s.sure the new-comers that references, other than their evident respectability of appearance, were entirely unnecessary. They insisted upon producing testimony, however.

The Caterpillar took from his throat, about which it was twisted like a cravat, a bit of green rose-leaf, and handed it to the Cricket, who read aloud,--

"I can certify that my esteemed friend, the Caterpillar, will prove a charming addition to any circle.

"GRa.s.sHOPPER, Jr."

The Wasp then pa.s.sed a lump of wax to the chairman, with these words pecked upon it:--

"I cordially recommend our neighbor Wasp to the society of all intelligent people, as a most refined and agreeable companion.

"A. t.i.tMOUSE, Esq."

The Spider alone of the three gave no letter, but said coolly,--

"I have seen plenty of the world, yet I have never troubled myself with such nonsense as cards."

"You will not find ceremonies of the kind necessary here," remarked the Cricket, with a severe glance at the Teapot. "Perhaps you will tell us something of your adventures, however.

"I do not mind doing so at all," returned the Spider, gathering up his long legs into a more comfortable position.

THE TRAVELLED SPIDER.

I was born in the cellar of this very house, and, for a delightful, spidery residence, I know of no place to equal the dark, dust-stained window ledge where I first drew breath. After a long period of absence, I find my early home has lost none of its charms. This is the case with men as well as spiders, I am told. The American thinks there is no river in the world so grand as the great Mississippi; the Frenchman none so beautiful as the Seine; the Englishman none so famous as the Thames; the German as the Rhine; and the Egyptian as the sacred Nile,--because home is represented by each.

"So, too, with me the cellar window has rare attractions: there one can spin a dainty web to snare the silly flies and gnats, when they come dancing along, for supper. Never believe the life of a spider is an easy one, though: that is an altogether false idea. We work hard enough, although we wear such good armor, and have such sharp, strong claws; for we live by our wits, and a dull, stupid spider has but a poor chance of it. First, one has to be on the watch for stray morsels of food, to be ready for a pounce; then one's net may become torn in some way so as to require mending; or a wandering spider comes prowling along to try and conquer a home without the trouble of making it: so between all these cares there is little leisure time to spare. The cla.s.s to which I belong does not have the constant labor that falls to the share of some of our cousins, who spin their webs from trees, or festoon them about verandas and other exposed localities, where the wind often blows them about so roughly, that they are obliged to suspend bits of wood and stone to the corners to maintain an equilibrium. I have some other relatives, to think of whom alone is enough to warm any spider's heart with pride.

"Foremost of these ranks the scorpion of warmer climates, where it creeps into sheltered crannies under every stone or sandy bank, even inhabiting boots and gloves. When disturbed, out it pounces, with an angry snap of the claws and a savage whisk of the tail, ready for some mischief, you may be sure.

"Ah, I wish I was a scorpion, instead of a mere ordinary spider! But then every one cannot be great, after all.

"Well, even the scorpion is foolish sometimes, as I will presently tell you. It lives in burrows, which it digs in the ground, the entrance being formed to the exact size of the insect. By the shape of the hole people discover the residence, and, when they wish to destroy the inmate, they pour some water down, to see if the scorpion is at home.

The scorpion detests water; and it no sooner feels the stream trickling through the opening, than out it rushes, to see what is the matter. To drive a spade into the hole and kill the scorpion is then an easy task.

"There is still another mode of destroying these princes of our race. A circle of smouldering ashes is made around the burrow, and the scorpion, after running for some minutes about the s.p.a.ce inclosed, and seeing no means of escape from the ring of fire, invariably bends its tail up over the back, and inserting the point between two segments of the body, stings itself to death.