“Just the same,” said father, laughing.
“Is that the reason we say Ant Jenny?”
“You little dunce! Who taught you to spell? But it is not a bad idea, all the same. It would be a good thing if there were as many ‘ant’ Jennys in this big round world of ours as there are in the ants’ little round world—folk who care for all, no matter whose children they are.”
While they were talking, the little ant crept to the edge of the table, and down the side, and was soon lost among the blades of grass.
“He will never find his way,” said Mary.
“Let him alone for that,” said father. “The ants have paths leading from their hill. They never lose their way. But they meet with sad accidents sometimes. What do you think I saw the other day? One of these small chaps—it may have been this very one—was carrying home a scrap of something in his jaws for the youngsters at home. As he ran along, a bird dropped an ivy berry on him. Poor mite of a thing! This was worse than if a cannon ball were to fall from the sky on one of us. He lay under it, not able to move. By-and-by one of his brother ants, who was taking a stroll, caught sight of him under the berry.
“What did he do?” said Mary.
“First he tried to push the berry off his friend’s body, but it was too heavy. Next he caught hold of one of his friend’s legs with his jaws, and tugged till I thought it would come off. Then he rushed about in a frantic state, as if he were saying to himself, ‘What shall I do? what shall I do?’ And then he ran off up the path. In another minute he came hurrying back with three other ants.”
“Is it quite true, father?”