“‘And what in the name of nonsense can you do except give old guff out of you?’
“‘I haven’t time to tell you all,’ ses the grasshopper. ‘But to commence with, I can travel all over the world and have the use of trains, steamers, sailing ships, and automobiles and will never be asked to pay a cent, and I can live on the dry land all my life if I choose, while you can’t live under water, or over water, on land or on sea, and while all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t catch me if they were trying till the crack of doom, you could be caught by a few poor ignorant harmless sailors, who wouldn’t know a crow from a cormorant and who’d sell your old carcass to make oil for foolish wives to burn and write letters to other people’s husbands and fill the world with trouble.’
“‘And what about all the whalebone we supplies for ladies’ corsets and paper knives, and what about all the stories we make for the novelists and the moving pictures and—’”
“We’re at the Sprig of Holly now,” said Micus. “Is it a pint of porter or a bottle of stout you’ll have?”
“I’ll have a pint, I think,” said Padna.
The House in the Valley
Down in the valley squirrels were busy climbing the hazel trees; rabbits made bold and ventured from their hiding places to gambol in the autumnal sunshine; weasels sported among the ferns; birds sang and insects buzzed, while nature looked on and smiled. Larch, birch, oak, and sycamore were altogether mingled, and perfect harmony there was in bower and hedgerow. Everybody came to the valley and everybody enjoyed coming, because there was no place like it. There was no color that you could not find there; but if you searched all day and all night too, only one house could you find in all its leafy splendor. Nor was it a large house. Just two stories high, with medium-sized windows below and small dormer windows on top. The roof was made of thatch, and the thatch, from being bleached in the sun, had turned to a golden hue. The walls, no one could tell what they were made of, so well were they covered with ivy and other green creepers. In the garden in front there were roses, pinks, and geraniums; and in the garden behind, nasturtiums, money-musk, and golden feather grew on a rockery made of large stones that were brought from Conlan’s Strand, where the children of Lir (before they became swans) used to play and watch the great ships sailing over the seas. It was a beautiful place to live, was this house, and whosoever looked upon it never forgot the house in the valley.
“This is a wonderful place, surely!” said a stranger, as he looked down from a crag and surveyed the winding valley beneath.
“A more wonderful place you could not find in a lifetime,” responded Micus Pat, as he lit his pipe.