Part 29

"What do you think of that?" said the Cricket triumphantly.

"It's beautiful," said Winnie; "but where are you going?"

"You'll see presently," said the Cricket; "and I wish you wouldn't chatter so. You nearly made me forget him."

"Forget who?" said Winnie.

"Our drummer," said the Cricket. "Keep still--I heard him a minute ago."

There was a long pause--so long that Winnie almost screamed, for there was nothing but the clock-tick to listen to.

Then something joined the clock-tick--One-two-three-four, pit-tip, tip-pit, one-two-three-four, pat-tap, tap-pat (just like soldiers a long way off, as Winnie explained), and presently the drummer himself appeared. He was a very small, squat, round-shouldered beetle, and he came out of a hole in the beam which ran across the ceiling.

"What a nuisance it all is!" he yawned. "I was just going off to sleep when I heard you. Is there no one else who can drum?"

"No one who can drum like you," said the Cricket, which is far the best way to answer these questions.

"Very well," said the Beetle, "but my wife must come too," and the pair of them dropped with two little flops on to the edge of the kitchen table. Then the clock chimed in--one-two-three-four, right away up to eleven.

"Shall I come too?" said a mean little oily voice from under the coal-scuttle. Winnie could just see the Cockroach's whiskers making quivery passes in the air, and she sat down and drew her nightie round her feet as tight as ever she could. She was quite relieved to hear the Cricket's answer.

"Of course not," he said; "you never played anything in your life."

"It's all the same to me," said the Cockroach. "I've given up those silly meadows long ago. Good-night, lunatics!" and he drew his whiskers in and disappeared.

"Was that eleven?" said the House Cricket, taking no notice of his rudeness. "We've no time to lose then. Come along!"

Winnie climbed up on his back as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and the two Beetles climbed up behind her. The drummer Beetle started playing at once--one-two-three-four, pit-tip, tip-pit; one-two-three-four, pat-tap, tap-pat--and the whole four of them sailed up the chimney. It was not hot (as Winnie explained), for the fire had burnt very low and that was what had beaten the kettle, but it was sooty, and she remembers quite well longing to see the clean, white snow on the roof. The Cricket went up crab-wise--a little jump to one side and a little jump to the other; so he took quite a long time to reach the chimney-pot, and when he crawled on to the edge of it the snow was all gone. ("That was the queerest thing of all, Father," said Winnie "there were leaves and flowers and sunshine, and it was just like summer.")

"Now hold tight," said the Cricket, "while I unpack my wings."

This was quite a long business, for the Cricket had to keep moistening his fingers, and Winnie and the Beetles had to keep crawling up and down his back, so as not to be in the way. At last everything was ready, and the Cricket poised himself on the edge of the chimney, spread his wings wide apart, and slid into the air. Winnie was just a little frightened at first, and she put her head down close to the Cricket's neck and shut her eyes and dug her fingers into the chinks of his back; but presently she felt that it was no good being frightened, for they were going quite smoothly, and the Cricket's wing-covers were high up on either side of her, so that she could hardly have fallen off if she had tried to. Soon she felt brave enough to raise her head very carefully and look about her. The kitchen chimney was some way behind, the great elm on her left, and the river close in front. Just before they reached the river the Cricket's wings buzzed like blue-bottles, and she felt they were going upwards. Then came another long, gentle glide, and the Cricket landed on the blackberry hedge at the bottom of the meadow.

"You must all get off here," he said.

Winnie stepped off his back on to a slippery thorn, missed her footing, and fell on the top of the Great Green Grasshopper's wife.

"I beg your pardon!" said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife.

"I think I ought to beg yours," said Winnie politely--which is where the story began some time ago.

The Great Green Grasshopper's wife was more amused than offended.

"Don't mention it," she said. "I suppose you've come to help us, and I'm very glad to see you. It is really most unfortunate, but I couldn't possibly let my husband come--the first Christmas Eve he has missed for years--but, as I said to him, 'If your leg's frostbitten, you're much better in your hole.' Don't you agree with me?"

"Oh, yes, I think so," said Winnie, who felt she must say something.

"Of course we shall miss him very much," said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife, "but if the Field Cricket isn't too nervous, I dare say we shall pull through. I see you have brought our drummer with you, and here is the Mole Cricket coming up, and the Wood Cricket, and I saw the Bush-cheeps a moment ago. Do you really mean to tell me that you have never met any of them? Then I must introduce you. This is the Mole Cricket. You can't ever mistake him if you have once seen his feet; and this is the Field Cricket--you can't mistake a blackamoor like him either; and this is the Wood Cricket with the check trowsers; and the Bush-cheep always wears a brown tail-coat and a greeny waistcoat. Now you all know each other and we must get to work. What do you play?"

Winnie had been getting a little uneasy all this time, for the Crickets had been unpacking their instruments and making little scrapes just like the band before the pantomime, and she had felt that she would be expected to do something too, and had made up her mind as to what she would say if she were asked.

"I can play a grass-blade a little," she said.

"Well, there's lots of grass about," said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife. "Let's hear you do it."