"Say, what's that?"
"O, I don't know," said Chirk, "let's ask him to sing it, then we'll find out."
"All right, you do," said Chee.
Father Cricky was very glad to sing it, and this was the song he sang:
_Tree-Top Cantata
Moderately fast_
Swing tree top, swing,
This morning bright
Swing gold and green
In gay sunlight
Swing, tree-top, swing.
Swing tree top, swing
In night time too,
There's shining stars,
And falling dew,
Swing, tree-top, swing.
THE WALKING STICK
The Walking Stick was soberly walking down the path looking spindly in every way: long, thin legs and a long thin body that were for all the world like a stick. Probably you have seen the Walking Stick many times and thought him just a twig. If you hadn't been in such a hurry you might have seen something interesting. Each time he picked up a leg, he seemed to wave it in the air before he put it down again. That was, I suppose, because he had to, each leg was so very long. The Walking Stick had been given the name of the "Parson" by some naughty little crickets, for no other reason, I am sure, than that he was so exceedingly grave.