The ant’s uncle returned to the place where the table was being set. He threw his hat over on the grass and sat down, saying, “I am very tired and a little rest would do me a great deal of good.”
“Benjamin, Benjamin,” cried the ant’s aunt, “how could you do such a thing?”
“Why, just you see what Uncle Benjamin did,” cried all the small ants at once.
“You ought not to be so careless,” replied Benjamin, “how was I to know that it was a custard pie? I thought it was a nice cushion you put there for me.”
The ant’s uncle started to get his hat and walk away. He had not gone very far before he became red in the face with anger.
“Get off my hat,” all the ants heard him say, “how dare you sit on a poor ant’s hat like that. Haven’t you any manners?”
“What is the matter, Benjamin?” asked the ant’s aunt, picking up her cane and hobbling toward her husband.
“This miserable man,” yelled the ant’s uncle, “has the impudence to sit down on my hat and he won’t get up.”
