CHAPTER IX
LITTLE MISCHIEF MAKERS
It’s a wonder, it’s a wonder
That they live to tell the tale.
—Anon.
Mrs. Potato Bug did not return. A sister bug rose to speak when the meeting opened after dinner. There had been a sad tragedy in the potato field, she told them, and even at that very minute the farmer and the farmer’s men, armed with barrels of “pizens,” were waging a warfare in which millions of potato bugs were going down to their death. “Alas! my friends,” she finished with a sigh that seemed to come from the very tips of her six feet, “no words can paint the dreadful scene. She who was here but a short while ago, so chipper and so gay, even she was giving her last gasp as I fled from the field of carnage.”
The story moved the audience deeply, and all agreed that something should be done to suppress the farmers. It was even suggested to appoint a committee to consider ways and means, but at this point a very young potato bug asked the question:
“If there were no farmers, who would plant potatoes for us?”
“No one,” answered Mrs. Sawyer, who was there just as self-important as ever. “Then maybe there would be no potato bugs, and I for one wouldn’t be sorry.”