But if Tommy paid no heed to Chirpy, there was a reason why. Near Tommy sat a pale young miss of his own sort, who listened with great enjoyment to his playing. Or at least she acted as if she thought it the most beautiful music in the whole world.
Tommy Tree Cricket was not so intent upon his fiddling that he couldn’t roll his eyes towards his fair listener. And Chirpy was not slow to understand that it was for her that Tommy was playing his re-teat! re-teat! re-teat!
“I’ll wait here until he rests,” Chirpy said to himself. “Then I’ll ask him again what he knows about Mr. Mole Cricket.”
Well, Chirpy waited and waited. But it seemed to him that as the night lengthened Tommy Tree Cricket fiddled all the faster. And if the weather hadn’t turned colder along toward morning probably he wouldn’t have had a chance to speak to Tommy again.
Anyhow, a cool wind began to whip around the side of Blue Mountain and sweep through Pleasant Valley. And the moment it struck Tommy Tree Cricket he began to play more slowly. Little by little a longer pause crept between his re-teats. And at last the pale miss beside him cried, “I hope you’re not going to stop your beautiful fiddling!”
“I fear I’ll have to,” Tommy told her with a sigh. “I’m beginning to feel a bit stiff, with this north wind blowing on me.”
This was Chirpy Cricket’s chance.
“Please!” he called. “Will you listen to me a moment?”
“What! Have you come back again?” Tommy Tree Cricket sang out.
“No! I’ve been here all the time,” Chirpy explained. “I’ve been waiting for hours to have a talk with you.”