Part 31

("It was really worse than the real waits," Winnie explained. "It was like a million little glass stoppers being squeaked out of bottles--and they didn't seem to mind the time a bit.")

The Great Green Grasshopper's wife looked at Winnie quite severely.

"I asked you to play softly," she said; "you're drowning the whole band."

"I can't play more softly than that," said Winnie.

"Well, there's only one thing to be done then," said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife. "I must hunt up the Skipjacks."

The Skipjacks are the little grasshoppers who live in the fields, and it takes quite a number of them to play a tune that you can hear.

"Wait for me here," said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife; "I sha'n't be long!" And she leapt like a jump-jim-crow and landed three yards clear of the hedge.

She really was some time away, but at last she reappeared driving the Skipjacks in front of her.

"It is so troublesome to keep them straight," she explained; "the little idiots! Look at them."

They certainly were a queer flock to manage, for they could only move by jumps, and when they jumped even they themselves had no idea of where they were jumping to. However, by driving them in front of her she managed to keep a few of them together, and at last she got them into their places.

"You must fiddle," she said, "as you never fiddled before. The band shall not be beaten by a grass-blade. Now altogether--one, two, three, four!"

It was really much better that time, and though Winnie could not pick up the tune, everybody else seemed quite pleased with themselves.

"That's better!" said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife. "Now again!"

But before the words were out of her mouth the great hall clock chimed in, Ting--Ting--Ting--Ting----

"Midnight!" screamed the Great Green Grasshopper's wife. "What will become of us?"

Ting--Ting--Ting--Ting----

"It's fast!" cried Winnie: "I know it's fast. I put it on myself for getting up tomorrow."

"Are you quite sure?" said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife.

"Quite sure," declared Winnie; "it's five minutes fast at least."

"That's a great relief to my mind," said the Great Green Grasshopper's wife; "but, of course, we must stop at once."

Indeed, the Crickets were already packing up their instruments, and the last thing that Winnie remembers was the Great Green Grasshopper's wife hurrying the little Skipjacks off to bed.

THE PYGMY SHREW (BOXING-DAY)

Few know him and the careless eye may never see him. He is so small,--that four of him just stop a mouse-hole; so light,--that ten of him just tilt an ounce. Yet, if you search the files, you find him eminent. The Pygmy Shrew in Cornwall! The Pygmy Shrew in Kent!! The Pygmy Shrew in Rutlandshire!!!

Thus fame is garlanded round mystery.

Man's kingdom is brick-built and parchment guarded. The beasties have a nobler heritage. Fence your broad acres as you please, yet they shall quietly share them, paying you naught, and taking what they will. Water and air and land are theirs by prior, nay primeval, right. So shall you bend before their quality, and, for their lineage, you shall respect them.

Something had brushed across the Pygmy's nose. He shook off three days' sleep in three half-seconds. Where was his tail? Sleeping, he swings it up across his face, and gathers all four feet within its shelter. His tail was there, but in its waking-place, behind him. Then something must have moved it. He stretched his neck and sniffed, long wheezy sniffs which ended in a shiver; then he peered down the shaft. He jerked back to avoid an avalanche--a blinding dust-cloud, a rattle of small stones, and, in the midst, two common shrews close locked.

But I go on too fast.

The stump is close against the rookery-fence. It is a stump of quality, a residential stump, a maze of winding roots and secret chambers, wherein field-folk may live without acquaintance. There is a fellow to it in the meadow, another fronts the rabbit mound, and all three hold like tenants.