“I can’t say that I do,” said Tommy. “It makes me think of that creaking pump at the farmhouse.”
“And of what”—Chirpy Cricket stammered—“of what, pray, does your own fiddling remind you?”
“Ah!” said Tommy. “My own music is like nothing in the world except the sound of a shimmering moonbeam.”
There is no doubt that Tommy Tree Cricket thought very well of his own fiddling.
XVI
A LONG WAIT
Chirpy cricket was so good-natured that he wouldn’t quarrel with his cousin, Tommy Tree Cricket. Although Tommy had said bluntly that Chirpy’s fiddling reminded him of Farmer Green’s creaking pump, Chirpy made no disagreeable answer. He did not want to hurt his pale cousin’s feelings.
After making his rude remark Tommy Tree Cricket began his re-teat! re-teat! re-teat! once more. He shuffled his wings together at a faster rate than ever, as if he had to furnish all the music for the night. As before, he seemed to have forgotten all about his caller; for Chirpy still waited beneath the raspberry bush where Tommy Tree Cricket was fiddling.