Chapter III: Part 3

For a wide space under the tree the traveling was easy, for the ground was fairly smooth and not cluttered up with things to be climbed over and under. But that soon came to an end, and the same sort of trip he had taken yesterday, when he went over and under, and down and up things all the time, had to be taken again for a long distance. This might be the way the entire journey around the world would be, for all he knew.

Everywhere along the way the whole field was busy with life. Everyone was working busily, and not one creature he met was sitting idle. Half of the ones he met did not so much as see him, they were so busy, and the other half took time merely to look at him, or to say, “Good-morning!” in such a hurry that they hardly knew they were saying it.

One old Grasshopper, however, stopped his cutting of a grass stem for a minute. “What!” exclaimed the Grasshopper. “Do you mean to tell me you are going off for a picnic, you young rascal? You ought to be at home working with your family. You are a bad boy, sir! The very idea! I never heard of such a thing! If you were my son, I should have to give you such a whipping that it would be a long time before you would forget it. What is the matter with you? Are you lame or anything?”

“No, sir,” answered Anthony Ant, rather frightened at the Grasshopper’s cross voice. “I am not going to a picnic, and I am not lame, either.”

“Then tell me, why aren’t you at home working?”

Well, of course, you know Anthony Ant had to tell all about his reason for leaving home, and at the mere mention of Dr. Alexander Beetle Bug the old Grasshopper put back his head and laughed so hard that he almost spilled a large drop of molasses out of his mouth.

“Well,” said he, when he could stop laughing long enough to speak, “I’ll let you go without the whipping. You won’t need it, for, if Dr. Bug has prescribed that trip for you, you won’t need any punishment from me. His will be quite enough. His dose will be stiff enough to fix you!” And he went on laughing so hard that the Ant thought the old Grasshopper must be crazy.

“Look here, son!” cried the Grasshopper, stopping his laugh quickly when he saw the Ant was about to run away in disgust. “Now don’t be angry. Only foolish fellows get angry at nothing at all. That is a piece of advice worth pasting in your hat: _Don’t get angry at nothing at all, and don’t get angry at anything!_”

“I haven’t any hat,” said Anthony Ant sulkily.

“So I have noticed,” said the Grasshopper. “Where is it? Did you run so fast away from work that you did not stop even to put on your hat? You must be a Gubblechook! And yet you took time to get your lunch basket and other things, I notice. You don’t look much like a Gubblechook, either--not yet, anyway.”

“What is a Gubblechook?” asked the Ant.

“A Gubblechook,” replied the Grasshopper, “is a fellow who is afraid of work--so afraid of it that even if he could see the shadow of it coming around a corner he would run and hide where he could not see it. You can always tell a Gubblechook when you see one too.”

“How?” asked the Ant.

“Oh, by his looks,” said the Grasshopper. “He begins to look sort of gubbly and chooky after awhile. His eyes lose their shine that is better than Fireflies’ sparks. His mouth droops like a withered squash blossom. His hair falls around over his face and flops in strings around his ears. His tongue hangs out after awhile. His nose points down for keeps, and he ends by sleeping forever and ever, and then seven more forevers besides. If you don’t look out, you’ll be a Gubblechook before long. Better paste this in your hat too: _Don’t be afraid of work!_ It is the only thing that will keep you from turning into a Gubblechook, you’d better believe! But where _is_ your hat?”

“A Field Mouse ate it,” answered the Ant.

The Grasshopper laughed harder than ever.

“That isn’t a joke!” said Anthony Ant with a pout.

“Well, I should think not!” exclaimed the Grasshopper. “Hats don’t grow on every bush these days, I can tell you! But, just to show you I am not making fun of you and that I really want you to be something better than a Gubblechook, I’ll make you a present of as nice a hat as you ever had in your life.”

The Ant was ashamed of himself. “I could not take it,” said he. “Besides, Mother would not think I ought to take it when I can’t pay for it, I know.”

“Nonsense!” said the Grasshopper. “She’d let you earn it, though, wouldn’t she?”

“Well, yes,” the Ant answered.

“All right, then,” said the Grasshopper. “Let me see if you have forgotten how to work. First, I’ll show you the hat to let you know I am honest when I say it is the best one you ever had--or I should say, the best you _can_ have, for of course you have not had it yet.”

From a swinging grass back of him the Grasshopper brought out a hat that would exactly fit Anthony Ant, and it was made of the finest straw to be had in the whole wide field. It certainly was a beauty!

“Now,” the Grasshopper went on, “I want a certain hollow under a stone made a little deeper or wider or something, so I can get in and out better. That stone covers my favorite rest room, but the hollow is too small for me to wiggle into and out of easily. Here is a shovel.”

Well, sir, Anthony gave his basket and case into the Grasshopper’s care, and went at the job for all he was worth. By and by he had the hollow big enough so that when the Grasshopper tried it the size was the very thing.

“I can see that you are still able to keep the name of Anthony Ant of Ant-Hill Manor,” said the Grasshopper. “It is a pity to let your good strong muscles get flabby. A Gubblechook’s muscles always do, you know. So not only am I going to give you the hat, but I am going to give you two pieces of advice all pasted in, into the bargain. Look inside the hat.”

Anthony Ant looked inside. The Grasshopper was not a Gubblechook, anyway, for he had worked hard to make the fine lettering of the words, and he had taken much pains with the hatband he had made himself.

Anthony read the words inside the hat:

“DON’T GET ANGRY AT NOTHING AT ALL, AND DON’T GET ANGRY AT ANYTHING! DON’T BE AFRAID OF WORK!”

He thanked the Grasshopper, took his hat and put it on, and, with basket and case, marched on once more over and under the scenery.

A VENTURE IN QUESTIONS

The afternoon was at its hottest when Anthony Ant next stopped for a rest. There was such a fine mossy stone in the shadow of a thick clump of weeds that it made the very place to camp out for awhile.

He took off his new hat and placed it carefully where no Field Mouse could get it. He was a pretty wise Ant now, he thought, for he had learned a few things in his tramp, and one was that Field Mice and hats are not to be trusted together if you ever want to see the hats again. Then he tasted some of the dried berry and took a little nip at the Worm he had caught in the tree, and found his sandwiches were nearly gone. There would be about enough to last him for his supper, and then he would have to get on as well as he could without sandwiches. His cheese was nearly gone too. What a good time they had had at that Wild-Rose Tea House--they three! He and the small Spider, Size Two and the Ladybug had been such very good friends.

“Hello!” said a voice suddenly. “What on earth are you doing there eating such nice things all alone?”

Anthony Ant was never more surprised in his life! There sat a Firefly. You would not have guessed it to look at him, for there was not a bit of fire showing anywhere about him. The Ant knew him as a Firefly, though, because his mother had told him all about Fireflies when he was a little boy.

“It’s all I’ve got to eat,” said the Ant in answer to the Firefly’s question. “But I’ll give you a taste of anything you want, just the same.”

“You speak as though there wasn’t any more food to be had in the world,” said the Firefly. “Your voice sounded so solemn.”

“Well, if you hadn’t any more food except what was in your lunch basket, I guess your voice would sound solemn, too,” replied the Ant.

“It would not!” declared the Firefly very firmly. “Why should it, when there is plenty of food in the world? Just because your lunch basket is empty at times, is no reason for feeling solemn. If there was a famine, that would be different, but there is food all about you.”

“Yes, but you have to go catch it,” the Ant whined.

“Well, why not?” asked the Firefly.

Anthony Ant was about to say it was too hard work to have to go catch your food all the time, when he suddenly thought maybe the Firefly would call him a Gubblechook if he did not look out, so he kept still.

“What’s the matter?” asked the Firefly. “Don’t you know how to catch food?”

“Mercy, yes!” cried Anthony. “Look in my basket. I caught that.” And he pointed with one of his feelers to the little green Worm.

“Let’s see,” demanded the Firefly, and he peeked into the basket.

“Have a piece,” said Anthony Ant. “You’ll find it very fine and tender and juicy.”

“No, thanks,” replied the Firefly, “but I’ll taste this fancy pink cake, if you want me to.”

“Do!” said Anthony. “Take the whole of it!”

“Oh!” said the Firefly, as he took the cake. “Where have I seen and tasted such cakes before? Oh, I know! You must have been to the Wild-Rose Tea House!”

“Yes,” said Anthony, “that is where all but the dried berry and the Worm came from. Have you been there?”

“Often,” answered the Firefly. “I always stop there on my way home from a band concert at night for a little cake or two and a cup of Wild-Rose Berry Coffee. They make a specialty of that coffee there, and there is nothing like it to rest a person after an evening’s flitting. I flitted nearly every evening of June, and pretty nearly all of July, without missing a night, lighting up things with my lantern. But now I go only occasionally, for the season for flitting is nearly over for us, and we are spending our time on vacations a bit for a rest from our hard season. This cake is delicious and is my favorite sort. You were wise to pick out this kind of cake. It is the best they make there.”

“I didn’t pick it out,” said the Ant, and told how his friends had taken him there, and also all about the way he had left home.

“Maybe you were sick,” suggested the Firefly, who seemed really kind-hearted and not one who would lecture him for not working. “You know that work is such an old sort of thing, that it was invented when the world was made, and everybody works at something or other always, whether it is hard work or more the kind of work one would rather do. So any one who suddenly, like you, does not want to work, nor even help bring in the family’s food, must be sick--not sick enough to go to bed, probably, nor to take medicine out of a bottle, perhaps, but just sick enough so that if he does not have a change he may be sick in bed. Anyhow, I’d keep at Dr. Beetle Bug’s prescription long enough to find out how it works--for even prescriptions have to work, you see!” And he laughed a cheerful laugh at the joke he had made.

“How can I tell when the prescription has worked enough?” asked Anthony, for here was some one worth meeting. He seemed to know all about things.

“Well,” said the Firefly, “do you feel that if you were at home now, this very minute, you would be glad to work hard all day as the others do?”

“No!” cried the Ant.

“And are you lonesome for your mother and the others in the family?”

“Well, ye-es,” said Anthony Ant slowly. “It would be nice to see them, but I do not have to cry yet because I can’t see them.”

“How about nights?” asked the Firefly. “Do you wake up in the night and feel scared, and wish your mother were there, and all that sort of thing?”

“Well, I’m not so scared since I had the pass, you see, though I do sometimes wish I was where Mother could talk to me.”

“I don’t think you’re ready to give up your trip yet,” declared the Firefly, “but the way to know is to ask yourself all those questions every day. Then when the time comes that you think there is nothing finer than a good, long, honest, hard day’s work, and you are so lonesome you’d give anything you had to see Mother, and the lump in your throat, which sometimes gets too big to keep you from choking out loud almost, really does make you choke out loud--then you may know that the doctor’s prescription has worked enough, and you are cured, and can go home and live happily ever after, just as Fairies do in stories.”

“I’ve had lumps in my throat several times,” Anthony Ant told the Firefly, “but I’ve swallowed them. And it did seem sort of nice to carry out earth again when I was working for the Grasshopper, but I might not like to carry earth all day as I used to, and I’m sure I’m not crazy about hunting even my own next meal.”

“Oh, then don’t think of giving up the cure yet!” said the Firefly. “If you give up cures too soon, you often become worse than before you tried them.”

“Oh, thank you!” cried Anthony Ant. “Now suppose I should have all those feelings before I got all the way around the world. Shall I keep on, or go home at once?”

“You won’t need my answer on that question,” said the Firefly, “for you will _just know_, and when any one _just knows_, he never has to be told. You may be sure you will do the right thing without the advice of any one. Thank you for the cake--especially since you soon will have to do a little work to fill your lunch basket again. I hope we meet again some time. I want to know how this cure business comes out. Good-by!” And off he sailed through the warm air.

AT THE HOLLOW-LOG INN

Oh, my, my, my! If ever Anthony Ant thought the cure had worked, it was the very next morning! The rain was pouring more like a Niagara Falls than a plain, hard shower, and he just had to grab his things and run into a horrid, dark, toadstooly-smelling log where anything might live, and anything might happen to him, too. There was not another place to go unless he ran into an Angleworm’s hole, and he had had all he wanted to do with Angleworms for one while. The rain swished and swooshed and bliffed and bluffed so against things and on them that it was not safe to stay under a leaf, nor under most stones however far the hollows went under them. He would have been drowned.

Away back in the middle of the great, horrible log there was not so much as a drop of rain. At any rate, the log did not leak, even if it was as dark as the darkest cellar and might have things in it. He was lucky not to have gotten his new hat soaked, and he had all his things with him, though there was not much in his lunch basket.

He found that all sorts of creatures were gathered in the center of the great log. There were Crickets, and Thousand-legged Worms, and Daddy Long-legs; and little Bugs, and medium-sized Bugs, and big Bugs; and a Toad, and a Lizard, and a green Snake, and a draggled Moth, and a Walking-Stick Insect, and a Snail in a shell, and a Snapping Beetle, and a Berry Bug, and a Katydid; and a funny thing that might have been a Katydidn’t; and an unpleasant, wiggly thing part Bug and part Worm; and a Locust, and a Slug; and goodness knows what else besides. For there were all sorts of things he could not see that wiggled, and twisted, and shoved, and poked, and pushed, and slithered, and slid, and joggled, and the dark made it impossible to see.

Although the place might be full of ladies, Anthony Ant found the safest way to keep his hat at all was to leave it on his head. So he did, for no one was thinking much of manners, he knew. The only thing any one could think about was getting away from the rain. Why, there were creatures in there that almost always ate each other when out in the open. But here they were glad enough not to think of such a thing, but just to be content with keeping from being killed by the rain.

That was indeed the moment when Anthony Ant would have given everything he had if he could have been safe and sound in Ant-Hill Manor. An awful lump, Size Sixty-seven, got into his throat, and was almost unswallowable! The noise of the rain thumped upon the log until it seemed as though it would pound it all to smithereens or splintereens. And the roar of the wind and the rain together sounded through the log until you couldn’t think, blink, or wink. There were twenty-seven other noises besides, which the Ant thought he never had heard before.

All at once, whatever light had managed to creep faintly in at one end of the log was blocked out, making that end as black as the blackest night.

“Snoof, snoof, snoof!” said something as big as the log nearly.

The whole company made a dash for the other end of the log, and the rain and wind drove them back, so there they were. If they got out, they would be thumped to pieces by the rain in about half a second. If they stayed in, the awful Snoofer, whatever he was, might trample them to nothing at all. What to do, they didn’t know!

The Snoofer really was a Woodchuck, perfectly friendly, though too big for any of them to get too near in a crowded place where there was no room for him and them to pass each other.

“Hello, folks!” said he. “Don’t move. Plenty of room. You’re all welcome to Hollow-Log Inn. It’s not fit weather for any of you to get out into, so you stay in. This is an inn, and you’re in, so there you are for a joke worth having. Make yourselves at home.”

Well, at least they were not so frightened after that, though they jolly well knew they would have to look out if he turned around much or came their way.

“Seems good to get in,” said he. “I like my other underground house better than this, but I was caught when I was making a run for it from a long hunt in the woods, and I happened to think Hollow-Log Inn had a better roof than Burrow Hall. Why, I’ll wager Burrow Hall is full of water. If the rain hasn’t run down through all the entrances, it must have soaked through the ground above the halls by this time and flooded them badly. I hope all of you are all right and none the worse for the big drops, nor for the poundings and bruisings you may have had from it before you came inside.”

Mr. Woodchuck spoke such kind words, which they managed to hear in spite of the thumping of the rain and the roar of the wind, and in spite of all the twenty-seven noises besides, that they knew some one ought to thank him politely.

But, mercy! Who could thank him in all that noise, when their voices were so little and his voice so big? They were sure they could not make him hear, so they bowed politely and smiled. As he could see well in the dark, he knew what they meant, and said he would do all the talking, and they need not try to answer till the storm was over.

They all bowed again.

“Before I do much talking,” said he, “I’ve got to have a snooze. I’ve been on the go all day, and a little snooze will fix me right up. Maybe the rain and wind will quiet down a little so we can hear ourselves think better by that time.”

Well, sir, the Woodchuck curled himself into a fat ball of wet fur that smelled--well, just like wet fur--and to sleep he went, and not a bit more for the wind, and the rain, and the noise they made, cared he! And he even snored, and that made the twenty-eighth noise to be heard in and out and around about Hollow-Log Inn!

THE WOODCHUCK’S DREAM

Maybe you think that after the kind words of Mr. Woodchuck, and the harmless way in which he just curled himself up and went to sleep, there was nothing more to be feared from him, but there was!

The snoring itself was pretty bad, but they could stand that. And the smell of the wet fur, that began to steam when he grew warm and snuggly as he slept, was pretty bad, but they could stand that too.

The real scary thing about it was that in his sleep he did something besides snore. He talked to himself, and made horrible, deep noises in his throat, and sometimes snoofed so suddenly that it made them jump. The whole log shook with the rain, wind, snoring, snoofing, and other noises, and trembled like the whole company.

All at once he wakened with such a start that they thought their last minutes had come this time. But after the big start that terrified them he was all right, and wakened the rest of the way more slowly and gently, though he still did a lot of short, muffled snoofings for a few minutes.

The rain and the wind died down meanwhile, and there were not quite all of those twenty-seven noises outside, so things really were much better.

“Hello, folks!” he said as he slowly and carefully uncurled himself. “How’s the weather? Any better?”

They all nodded, so he said, “Good! I hope I did not snore and make other noises. Did I?”

Well, to be honest, they all had to nod again, and they did.

“Now, that’s too bad,” he said. “It must have frightened you, and you shall have an explanation. You see, I had a fierce dream, and when I have a fierce dream I suppose I make fierce noises. This time I dreamed I was a Pirate with a capital _P_. Want to hear about it?”

Well, of course they had to nod again, and, to tell the truth, they were all curious to know what a Pirate was, for none of them had seen one. The Woodchuck was so kind too, for all his noises, that if they were careful to keep out from under him they were safe enough. He had them come as close to the center of the log near him as they could, and then, in as low and soft snoofly sort of voice as he could, he talked to them.

“I suppose dreams come to us because of things we have been thinking hard about in the daytime, or things that have happened to us out of the common. That’s why I dreamed my fierce dream, no doubt. Here’s the thing that made me dream:

“As far back as yesterday, I was off near a fine cornfield a good bit of a distance from here, where in the spring I nearly got caught once for eating some of the corn the farmer had just planted in the hills. My farthest entrance to Burrow Hall is near that field, and it was easy to get up there and find plenty to eat in those hills freshly planted. I had such a scare that time that not till yesterday did I have any more to do with that field than to run along the thickly tangled border of tall weeds once in awhile when I wished to go to another field. But yesterday the field was lying so quiet in the warm sunshine that I thought it quite safe to leave the tangled border and go into the thick rows of cornstalks. There is nothing that smells much better to me than the corn when the sun shines on it. Oh, my, but I like to take long whiffs of it!

“When I walked into the nice, long green hallways between the rows of corn, I was so happy I could have sung a song I used to sing years ago about ‘How Pleasant It Is in My Old Ground Home,’ but I kept perfectly quiet, for I knew it would not do to sing, as there might be men in that field. But I wandered slowly in and out of the rows, and felt the cool, green leaves of the corn brushing against my sides. I took the longest, deepest breaths I could, and the sweetness of the warm, ripe tassel blossoms on the top of the stalks came down to me and made me want to smell that sweetness forever. It made me drowsy too, and there was such a quiet, snuggly spot to curl up in on the sun-warmed ground close to a bunch of the thick stalks that I made myself forget about men and all things bad, and crawled into the smallest ball I could make of myself. The last I remembered was the good, clean, sweet perfume of the corn.

“I may have slept a long while, and I may have slept only a few minutes, but I could not tell. Yet all at once I was flying for my life through the rows of corn. I dodged here and there into other rows and then doubled back on my tracks to keep the man who was chasing me from knowing where I was. At last I was back in the friendly tangle of the weeds along the fence, and shivering with fright from head to tail. Through the weeds I could see the cornstalks moving where the man was rushing about hunting for me. Soon I saw him come out of the field and look all around.

“‘You old Pirate, you!’ he cried, shaking his fist toward the place where he thought I was hiding myself.

“Now that is the very worst name any good, innocent Woodchuck can be called. Do any of you know what it means?”

They all shook their heads.

“Neither do I,” said the Woodchuck. “That is, I don’t know much except that a Pirate is an awful thing. Once I saw pictures of a Pirate in a book two boys were reading in the farmer’s barn. They hid the book in the hay, and afterward part of it was under the corncrib where I strolled through, one day. The Pirate in the pictures was lean and dark and fierce-eyed, and he had knives, and a sword, and pistols, and a great black hat, and a black ship, and awful boots, and the worst lot of men like him on the ship, you ever saw. The words in the book were dreadful. I don’t know the meaning of them, but I am sure no good Woodchuck ever would want to say them and couldn’t invent such bad words if he tried. I saw a lot of things said about pieces of eight, about the Jolly Roger, about scuttling the ship, and about walking the plank. Anyway, I know from the farmer’s looks, and the way he shook his fist, that he could not have called me a worse name.

“That made me dream I was off on the big ocean in that black ship, and that I had that black hat, and looked mad as mad, and took my sword and waved it around my head, and hollered all those words I read in the book. Then all at once another ship came sailing along the ocean and fired a big cannon at me--bang, smash! Off I rolled into the ocean--ker-plunk, splash! Then I woke up, and glad was I to find I was not so awful a thing as a Pirate with a capital _P_, as they spelled him in the book. If that farmer had seen the picture of the Pirate and then looked at me, he would have seen at once there was no reason to call me such a thing--an innocent Woodchuck like myself who never carried a sword in my life, nor would think of such a thing!”

The whole company thought the same thing, and as the storm had stopped, and they could make the Woodchuck hear, they thanked him, not only for letting them stay, but for telling them his dream. It had been like a lecture, for a lecture teaches things, and they had learned what a Pirate is.

Then, stepping as carefully as they could on the nearest dry places, out they went from Hollow-Log Inn: Anthony Ant, the Crickets, the Thousand-legged Worms, the Daddy Long-legs; the little Bugs, the medium-sized Bugs, and big Bugs; the Toad, the Lizard, the green Snake, the draggled Moth, the Walking-Stick Insect, the Snail in a shell, the Snapping Beetle, the Berry Bug, the Katydid; the funny thing that might have been a Katydidn’t; the unpleasant, wiggly thing part Bug and part Worm; the Locust, the Slug, and goodness knows what else besides!

A VENTURE WITH NEW FRIENDS

Anthony Ant did not wait long to see what became of the others in the company. Some of them were creatures that might like to eat Ants, once there was no more rain to make them forget they were hungry. But he soon found that to get over the ground was not a good thing to try to do at present, by any means. It was so full of puddles here and there, and the whole place was still so drippy from so much rain, that he would have to walk maybe miles out of his way in going any distance at all. Then there was the danger of big drops falling on him.

He went back to the log, but not inside. Instead, he climbed up outside and sat on top of Hollow-Log Inn.

It was all pretty forlorn. There was no one nearer to talk to than Mr. Woodchuck down inside the log, and probably he had gone to sleep again. The log was wet and unpleasant, so that Anthony could not sit there long, but had to stand up. In Ant-Hill Manor even wet days like this were not bad at all. Mother Ant read stories to them. They could play in the tool house, and do picture puzzles, and paint in their painting books, and make the phonograph play cheerful tunes, and do seventeen other different things. Never had they been obliged to sit out on logs in a wet world.

The Ant could not even take any interest in eating his lunch, for he was too lonesome to feel hungry. Besides, he would have to stand up to eat, and it would be no fun at all. He did not know how soon he might need food badly when he could not find any to catch, and the little he had left in his basket he thought he’d better save for awhile. So he did not even unstrap his basket, but stood around first on some of his legs and then on some other of his legs, feeling sort of miserable and whiney--the way some children feel when they make that noise that is almost like the cry of a little puppy dog.

All at once the sun came out, and one of the Crickets that had been in Hollow-Log Inn began to crick, crick, crick from some high place near by, and the world seemed a little better. Anthony Ant went to the end of the log and peered over at things, and he saw by looking down at a puddle on the ground that the sky above was blue, for it had given the puddle a blue face.

He was crawling down toward the ground near the puddle, and stepping very carefully around on the dry inside of the entrance of the log, when suddenly Mr. Woodchuck thought he would go out to see the world too. In coming through the entrance--or exit, as it now was to the Woodchuck--he brushed poor Anthony Ant right along with him. The little Ant had only time to clutch tight hold of Mr. Woodchuck’s fur as well as possible, and to trust to luck.

Mr. Woodchuck did not know about the passenger he was carrying, and Anthony Ant was too frightened to try to call to him to stop. So on he went with Mr. Woodchuck, and Mr. Woodchuck headed straight out to the open field where the grass was not so deep, and the weeds were not so tall as near the log. How wet the field was! The Ant luckily was on top of the Woodchuck’s back, and well down in the fur, so he did not get the brushing from the grasses and weeds he would have had on either of Mr. Woodchuck’s sides.

The Woodchuck went in the same direction the Ant wished to go--straight as could be toward the right--and that was something worth while. But out in the middle of the field was one of the entrances of Burrow Hall, and all at once Anthony Ant found himself going down into a hole under a great rock. Something must be done about it that instant if he did not want to get lost in the middle of the earth. He caught at a grass blade bending near enough to reach him, and drew himself up to the stem. Mr. Woodchuck therefore went down into the hole without his passenger, and the Ant was safe and sound very much farther on his way around the world, and also in a good, dry spot where it would be a fine plan for him to stay for the night. By morning it would be dry in the field, so he could travel twice as fast. He sat and swayed on the long grass stem, and fixed his feelers, and scrubbed himself nice and clean, and ate all but just enough for his breakfast in the morning. Then, when the sun went down, he cuddled into the place where one of the blades of grass was joined to the stem, and there he fell fast asleep, without dreaming he was a Pirate, either.

The world was all singing and shining and smelling sweet when he woke in the morning as rested as could be. Oh, but it would be a fine day to travel! He could imagine the other Ants of Ant-Hill Manor getting out their little wheelbarrows from the tool house and starting in for the day’s work after a nice breakfast. A tiny lump came into his throat even on this lovely morning when he felt so brave. Just to think of them all so contented and happy at their work made him a little homesick. He would have been glad to work with them that fine morning, he knew. But he wouldn’t go home yet. No--no, sir-ee, so there! He coughed to show how brave he was. He ate all that remained of his food to show how brave he was, and the breakfast made him feel braver yet.

First of all, he would go hunting food as he so often had done at home. When his lunch basket was well filled, he would show that he could take the whole of Dr. Alexander Beetle Bug’s prescription whether it was good or bad to follow out.

But here the worst thing of all happened. Anthony Ant was too quick in bragging about what he would do. He stepped off too lively on his next Ant Venture. Ants sometimes lose their balance or their footing, you know, and Anthony Ant lost both his balance and his footing at the same time. Down he went to the short grasses below. While a fall like that would not have made a bit of difference to him usually, this time it did for the reason that he landed upon the veranda of a fine, new home a large jumpy Spider had just finished building. That is what the large jumpy Spider built the veranda for. He had made the veranda webby and sticky on purpose. Though he made it for catching flies, he did not in the least object to other insects he might eat.

“Ho, I have you now!” he cried, as he ran out from his house cave back in the clover.

“Oh, please don’t hurt me!” cried Anthony Ant. “I fell down quite by accident. I did not mean to!”

“I can’t help that,” said the Spider. “I’ve got you now, and as soon as I get you tied up I shall take you back into my house and eat you.”

Oh, how poor Anthony Ant cried! He kicked and he screamed, and his feet were more and more tangled in the web all the time.

The Spider was just reaching for him and would have given him a big bite to quiet him until the tying had been done, when a big, buzzy thing pounded down so hard into the web veranda that the large jumpy Spider ran back in a hurry. It was a big Bumblebee, and he was so angry at the way the Spider was treating so small a creature as Anthony Ant that he flew from a clover-blossom feast he was having, and bounced up and down upon the web veranda to show what he thought of such business.

When the Spider saw who he was, there was a fight, I can tell you! Out rushed the Spider with more web ropes and jumped all around the Bumblebee, biting at him and trying to tangle him in the ropes. But the Bumblebee took care to keep his wings out of the web, and he bounced the veranda up and down so hard that he tore it all to pieces, and got out Anthony Ant and pulled him away from the place. Then when he saw how Anthony’s feet were tangled, he helped untangle them. Anthony told him about the dressing case, and the Bumblebee hunted until he found it, and Anthony’s hat and basket too. It was not long before Anthony and the Bumblebee had their bruises and knocks bandaged and dressed with salve and healing things.

“Say,” said the Bumblebee, “that was a close shave, wasn’t it?”

“Oh!” cried Anthony Ant. “I owe you my very life, sir! I never can repay you!”

“Oh, yes you can,” said the Bumblebee with a grin.

“How?” asked the Ant eagerly.

“By coming up to Clover Lodge for tea at four o’clock this afternoon. That is Clover Lodge, yonder. I’ve got to be off to work now, but I always stop at four for a bit of refreshment. It rests me, for you see I’m an old fellow. I’ll say good-by now, but shall hope to see you there on the tip-top blossom at the hour named. Good-by!” And off he bumbled.

AT CLOVER LODGE

To sit upon a sweet, pink clover blossom is more than pleasant. But to sit there sipping clover tea, with clover sandwiches and clover honey and clover cakes, while you talk to a nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee, is about as magic as anything that can happen.

“It hasn’t hurt you to take a day from your work, I’m sure,” remarked the nice old fubbly Bumblebee. “You could not have worked after that jambling and jipping you had in the Spider’s web. It is a wonder you could even crawl as far as this, but I knew that if you could manage it a bit of refreshment here at Clover Lodge would set you right up. Feel better already, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, sir, I do!” cried the Ant.

“You are such a busy creature naturally,” said the Bumblebee, “that I have been wondering how you happened to get into the Spider’s neighborhood at all. I have not seen any Ant homes near there.”

Anthony hung his head.

“I wasn’t working,” he confessed.

“What!” cried the nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee. “Not working! Oh, I see, I see! You were off on a hunting trip after food for the family pantry.”

“No, sir,” said Anthony Ant meekly.

“Sick, then?” asked the Bumblebee gently.

“No, sir,” said Anthony Ant, and told him the whole story.

Well, how that nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee laughed! He laughed most of all at the point where Anthony told the name of the doctor.

“What! Alec Beetle Bug? The old rascal! I know him well. He is a good sort, but a regular Villain for jokes too. Oh, he’s all right, and his prescription hasn’t hurt you, though I wish he could see how nearly it made an end of you! Never mind. Stick to the cure, only look out for jumpy Spiders next time. Well, well, well!” And he fell to chuckling so hard that the Ant could see that Dr. Beetle Bug and the Bumblebee must have been full of fun in their youth.

All things come to an end, and some come to an end too soon. This little visit at Clover Lodge was one of the good things that ended sooner than the Ant could have wished. But Bumblebees have to get home before dark, and it was a long air trip the nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee had to take to reach his.

“I’d stay here all night if I were you,” he said to Anthony Ant. “It won’t cost you a thing. You will find plenty of honey in the clover cupboards, and all these cakes and things are paid for, so take what are left with you in the morning. Good luck to you! Some day I’m coming to Ant-Hill Manor to hear how things turned out with you. You tell Doctor Alec to take a trip over my way some day, and I’ll let him feel my pulse, ha, ha! Tell him to come over to hear my latest jokes. Good-by, lad!” And off he went.

Ah, but the Ant did not like to see the sun go down that night! Clover Lodge was so lonely and cold and blue without that nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee. The sun set in a glow, but it made him feel only more lonely, and all his sore spots seemed to ache. What if that jumpy Spider should crawl up Clover Lodge’s ladderway in the night and grab him! Oh, if only the nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee would come back!

Once asleep, poor Anthony Ant had bad dreams. He woke in a fright, and in the soft moonlight saw all kinds of things coming after him, or thought he saw them, which was just as bad. One shadow looked like the jumpy Spider--so much so, that he sat right up and screamed!

Then all at once he thought of his pass. He took it from the basket where he had stowed it away, and set it up where he could see it in the moonlight and where everything else that might come to harm him would see it. It looked almost Japanese in the moonlight.

Then he fell asleep again and dreamed a Japanese dream of cherry blossoms, and wind bells, and incense, and storks, and funny bridges, and a pale blue mountain, and plum trees, and all that sort of thing. It was such a lovely dream that it woke him up as wide awake as the bad dream had. But there was a difference now. He was not the least afraid, but he thought hard.

Now, as he thought, the night wind blew, and the stars twinkled, and the grasses swayed, and the Crickets not too tired to crick did it, and the soft moonlight kept on shining. It was all like a poem--rather solemn, and rather happy, and rather lumpy-in-the-throat--of the good, cheerful sort that made you want to cry or laugh, or a little of each without knowing whether you were happy or sad. Anyway, with a shout of joy, suddenly Anthony Ant felt the last part of the cure of Dr. Alexander Beetle Bug’s prescription take hold. He was cured! No more change for Anthony Ant! He had had all he wanted. He _knew_, for he asked himself all the questions the Firefly had told him that would help him know whether or not the cure was finished, and there was no doubt about the matter any more. Did Anthony Ant want to work? He _did_! Was he lonesome without his mother and the others? He _was_! Did he wish his mother was here nights when he was scared? Yes, he _did_, pass or no pass! Moreover, if another large, weepy sort of lump should rise in his throat, he felt he never could swallow it as he had managed to swallow the others. He would have to choke out loud! He would go right back home in the morning! He no longer needed any Firefly to tell whether or not the cure was finished. At last he himself just _knew_!

So he tucked himself up once more, slept the remainder of the night in peace, and finished that lovely Japanese dream.

WHAT THE YELLOWBIRD SAID

Now in the morning, as we know, things look very different. What people make up their minds in the night to do the next day, they sometimes do not carry out at all. But with Anthony Ant this was not so. He was more than ever sure the right thing to do was to go back home. The more he thought of it, the surer he was.

“I’d better not be in too much of a hurry to start, after all,” he thought. “Mercy, me! Here I was, nearly running off without eating a mouthful or taking any of this good food to help me along!”

He found that some one must have been there after all while he was yet dreaming. He must have slept very late, indeed. So he had, for before the sun had wakened him that mischievous, nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee came to Clover Lodge and played a trick--a fine, good trick. He packed Anthony Ant’s lunch basket full of the most nourishing food there was to be had at Clover Lodge, and the little jar that had held the Wild-Rose Tea House cheese was now full to the brim with the sweetest Clover Lodge honey. Then, someway or other, there was a steaming pot of Clover coffee and clover pancakes piping hot, ready to be eaten with some of the Clover Lodge honey on them.

The reason for all this was that, out of curiosity, the nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee had come back. By the teardrops on the cheeks of Anthony Ant, who did not know himself that he had cried in his sleep, and by the way the little Ant looked, the wise, nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee knew what Anthony Ant had made up his mind to do. So he flew about doing the fine, good trick hard and fast, and then went about his business, knowing right well that it would not be long before Ant-Hill Manor would be having back again one of its very best workers.

You know how hard it is to eat your breakfast Christmas morning when your presents are waiting to be opened? Well, sir, that’s just the way it was with Anthony Ant trying to eat his breakfast this morning. As good as the breakfast was, it seemed as though it was the hardest work to swallow a mouthful, he was so crazy to be off to the left on his journey home. But he made himself eat the cakes and honey and drink the steaming, good clover coffee. Then he reached for his basket to pack, and how surprised he was to find it packed! He never would have known who had played this fine, good trick on him if it had not been for something scrawled on a leaf in a sort of buzzling handwriting, and the something said, in the slang language sometimes used by such a person as the wise, nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee, “Go _to_ it!” And it was signed just “B.”

Whether that meant go to the eating of the lunch or to the carrying out of the home trip, Anthony Ant did not stop to figure out. He just gave a gulp of joy at the thought of such a kind, thoughtful friend as the nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee had been in his deeds, and, after a look about to see that hat, case, and basket were gathered together, he took them and started on the homeward way.

It was pleasant going too. The roughnesses were not so rough, and the smoothnesses were smoother. Why, he did not even have to think which way was right and which was left! It was as though a magnet kept drawing him but one way, and he knew that pulling feeling he had was the Ant-Hill Manor direction drawing him home.

Anthony Ant steered clear of the spot where he knew the jumpy Spider had nearly caught him for keeps. Not once did he take his eye off the track ahead to be sure no other jumpy Spider was ready to pounce upon him.

No jumpy Spider pounced upon him, but there was one very exciting Ant Venture yet. It happened at the top of the tallest thistle in the field. Anthony Ant had climbed it to get a good view of the land before he traveled too far over what might be the hardest part of the field. Sometimes it saves time, you know, to take time. So sometimes it saves time, in traveling, to take time to go a bit out of your way to have a look at the general path ahead as far as you can see.

Up went the Ant along the thistle stem, and he did not mind the thorns the least bit. He went around them and between them, and had no trouble getting to the top at last. He climbed over the top of the cluster of blossom heads. There were a few buds not yet opened, and a few blossoms quite opened, and a very few that had grown so old that their hair had turned white and was ready to fly away.

He was sitting on one of the fat little buds, where he could see over the heads of the grasses and low weeds, when all at once something flew down so near Anthony that the whirring of the wings nearly made him lose his balance. He dodged back between this bud and the next one where the something with wings could not get him. My, what an exciting world this was!

The thing with whirring wings that came to a stop near him was a little Yellowbird with black on his tail and wings. He was not after Ants at all, but after the seeds he knew were under the whiteheaded old blossoms. He busily pulled off the fluff which flew away into the summer air, and then he dug out the small seeds which were young and juicy and sweet, as they were not yet ripe and too hard.

Anthony thought it safe to speak to the bird, so he said, “O sir, would you mind telling me if there are any jumpy Spiders in this way to the left I am taking toward the brook?”

“Yes,” answered the Yellowbird. “There are lots of them.”

“Oh, my!” said poor Anthony Ant. “I was caught by one once, and nearly lost my life. What shall I do to escape them?”

“Ho!” replied the Yellowbird. “I should not mind them if I were you. I never do.”