The Cricket's Friends Part 6

This ceremony over, the Caterpillar proceeded:--

THE DISAPPOINTED CATERPILLAR.

"I have had no occasion to stroll farther away than the garden of this house. I am sadly puzzled for something to talk about. The Wasp has antic.i.p.ated me, even, in a description of b.u.t.terflies,--a state I am in hopes of attaining some time, when you will not be able to recognize me.

My world has been limited, so far; yet I have seen some wonderful things, too. Did any of you ever see a humming-bird?"

"Yes," said the Cricket, Spider, and Wasp in a breath.

"Did any of you ever converse with one?"

"I did not suppose they ever stopped buzzing about long enough to speak," remarked the Spider.

"I have talked with one," said the Caterpillar triumphantly. "When I was just hatched, some week or more ago, I crawled for the first time out of the soft, warm bed my good mother had made me in the curve of a leaf.

I stretched myself upon the leaf which had been my cradle, to enjoy the warm sunlight, and looked about upon the various forms of life and beauty to be seen on a summer morning. The b.u.t.tercups and daisies laughed up at me from the gra.s.s, the insects floated about on gauzy wings, while the birds darted from branch to branch in merry sport.

"Close beside my leaf couch was a knot, or natural excrescence in the branch; and this tiny cavity held a nest, lined with fibres from mullein leaves and fern-down, containing two pearly eggs no larger than peas.

"Suddenly a glittering object shot up into the air until it was almost lost to sight; then descended upon the nest I was just examining. No wonder the eggs resembled pearls, when the parent bird could not have been more than two inches in length. When I beheld the lovely, fragile thing, with its diamond-bright eyes, and the plumage of the graceful curved throat, glittering like burnished metal in changing hues of orange and ruby, I felt ready to cry with vexation that I was such an ugly, worm-like creature. True, I shall be handsomer sometime; but I can never be a humming-bird. Besides, I belong to a sober species. A robin came hopping along jauntily from twig to twig, with a morsel of cherry in his beak.

"'Such a fright as I have had,' twittered the humming-bird. 'A great stupid man was peering about to find my nest a long while, and to-day he has followed me. Ah! but I gave him a long journey. I fluttered right and left, or darted ahead; then finally rose in the air so high he could hardly see my wee body; then dashed down here safe enough.'

"'A wise plan,' commented the robin. 'Thank fortune, I am not in such demand.'

"Interested in the conversation, I crept too near the margin of the leaf, lost my balance, and fell upon the nest.

"'You awkward thing,' said the bird, giving me a contemptuous poke aside. 'How ugly you are!'

"'I know it,' I replied; 'it was my admiration of your superior beauty that caused my fall. Excuse the clumsiness of a caterpillar just born.'

"'Go away with your nonsense and flattery I feared I was shot when you fell.'

"'Who would hurt you?' I asked, slowly climbing back to my leaf.

"'Plenty of enemies. That man is watching below, and nothing would delight his cruel soul so much as to carry away my family.'

"'Tell me something amusing, or I will inform him where you live.'

"'He would not believe a caterpillar,' laughed Madame Humming-bird.

'However, I will tell you any thing in my power.'

"'If it is all about your distinguished relations in the South, I have heard enough on that subject already,' said the spiteful robin.

"At this the other grew very angry, inflating her tiny throat, and snapping her bill. I tried to soothe her wrath, for I dislike any thing irritating.

"'I always did despise robins. My great family, indeed! One should learn better than to a.s.sociate with plebeians.'

"'The robin was jealous of your superior beauty.'

"This made the humming-bird good-natured again; so she went on:--

"'Did you ever hear of my first cousin the Chimborazian hill-star? Ah!

there is a fine bird for you. Not afraid to expose his frail form to the cold of higher lat.i.tudes, he dearly loves mountain air. I will tell you a story about him sometime. The hermits are so clever at building nests, they would laugh at this rude cradle of mine; still, as I cannot find any suitable leaf to suspend my nest from, bound by elastic spider-threads, I just use this knot, which answers the purpose after all. Some of them form a felt-like substance of moss and bark woven together; others use a fungus resembling buff-leather; while the Sappho comet lines her nest with the long hairs of the clamas. My relatives can boast the greatest variety of coloring. They have black diadems, purple-shaded patches, or vivid scarlet, blue, and crimson aigrettes. I do not know why people need invent fairies and gnomes when they can have us for subjects, flashing about among the flowers, as gay as the brightest of them, or bathing in some secluded nook of the brook, under the fern-leaves that form a tiny bower.'

"We were so much interested in the subject under discussion, that we never heeded the approach of danger. I looked up and saw a man's face close beside me. He was climbing cautiously along, his gaze fixed upon my pretty companion. Before I could give any warning, I was shaken to the ground, and the humming-bird continued to talk of her great relations, un.o.bservant of my fall. I watched eagerly, and presently the man came down again, with his captive and her nest uninjured.

"'Oh, my dear Caterpillar!' she sighed, looking through the meshes of the fine net which covered her little head; 'I wish you were strong enough to help me. However, promise to find my husband, and tell him of my sad fate.'

"I have never found him," said the disappointed Caterpillar. "I presume he has consoled himself with another wife by this time. I searched faithfully, crawling over whole trees in hopes of seeing him, and exposing myself to many dangers. I met other caterpillars in plenty.

That of the looper-moth supports itself for hours on the hinder feet, raising the body high in air, and, by a resemblance to the twigs of the tree, succeeds in deceiving the birds that would devour it. Some I found to be protected from injury by tufts of hair, acrid secretions, and stinging powers. Others so closely resembled brown, crumpled leaves, or green, fresh ones, that I should never have known them had they not spoken; while some of the number arm their dwellings with thorns. I have even heard of another species, called bombardiers, who fire off little guns when pursued, accompanied by a blue smoke and disagreeable scent.

"I liked to watch the ermine-moth community the best. They spin a commodious tent; and, wherever they wander over the tree, they carry a thread with them, so that they may not lose the way. Birds can do no more than strike their wings against the elastic bridges thus formed: they cannot penetrate the lines.

"Well, all the caterpillars laughed at my folly in searching for the humming-bird's husband; and perhaps they were right. I now have reason to despair of ever meeting him, for he never returned to where the nest had been; and a slow crawling caterpillar cannot hope to pursue the flight of a bird."

Here the Caterpillar paused abruptly: the Wasp, interested alone in startling incident or romantic adventure, was yawning.

"Really, I beg your pardon," he had the grace to say; "I did not sleep well last night."

But apologies or entreaties did no manner of good. The Caterpillar steadfastly refused to continue his tale.

"Very likely I was growing tiresome," he replied in an injured tone. Yet he made no further remark; for the Caterpillar, like other slow persons, was apt to be obstinate. This made affairs rather stiff and uncomfortable; so they were all glad to retire for the night.

The next evening, the Caterpillar was still sulky, and resisted all attempts of the Teapot to coax him into better humor. The Cricket wisely concluded to divert matters, by inviting the Spider to entertain them.

"I believe I am something of an author," said the Spider, "although I have never written for any of the magazines of the day. I will tell you a story I composed last summer, if you like."

THE FOUR SILVER PEACHES.

"Beyond the Frith of Clyde, the Kyles of Bute cleaving their way among gray cliffs, tapestried with mosses and richly clothed with lichens, past Loch Ridan's clear waters, past the peninsula of Cantyre, on the bosom of the Atlantic, lies a group of islets, varied in hue and form,--the Hebrides.

"To this isolated region, where the ocean hurls in winter storms against the rock walls, or ripples in caressing waves under summer skies, we will turn; for children have been born on that rugged sh.o.r.e, scenting the heather and wild thyme with their first breath.

"On the island of Iona, near Port St. Ronain, there once lived a good man, who had three strong sons, and two ruddy, blue-eyed daughters. One thing troubled him: little Neil, his nephew, did not thrive so well; for he was a cripple, and it saddened the uncle's heart to see the boy droop and pine away.

"Little Neil was an orphan; and he missed a good mother so much, that he was not happy, like his st.u.r.dy cousins. He could never run along the stretch of white sand, flecked with quartz and sh.e.l.ls from the Ross of Mull. No: he could only creep painfully to the brink of the green, crystal waters, to peep into their clear depths; or climb to some higher eminence, and watch the sea-birds in their rapid flight, the distant outline of cliffs shining in the sunlight, and the light breeze curling the waves crisply about the bows of many a little craft that skimmed over the azure sea only to melt into the hazy distance.

"Neil loved the ocean and the sky above it, embracing between them his island home. Everybody thought him a strange child, and this naturally gave him very bitter feelings: it seemed to him he should like so much to be his cousin Angus, who hunted the otter and tended the sheep, sleeping many a night upon the open hillside, wrapped in his plaid.

"The lame child had never been at school; yet he had heard the traditions of his home often related about the winter fireside. He had heard the grandeur of Fingal's Cave described; the stone cairn that marks the last resting-place of the Scandinavian woman, whose wish it was to be buried in the pathway of the Norway wind; and the castle of Duart, where a lord of the isles left his wife to be overwhelmed by the rising tide. Then, too, he had shuddered with fear over many a tale of ghosts and goblins haunting ruined houses; for the Scotch people are superst.i.tious.

"The great day of the year arrived, and all the cousins went to the fair held at Broadford, on the Isle of Skye. Little Neil had once been there, to see the women with smart caps and scarlet tartans grouped about their cows and sheep, while the men and boys pa.s.sed in restless, changing crowds; but the noise and bustle wearied him, so he remained at home.