“Do you live near-by?” Chirpy Cricket inquired of Mr. Mole Cricket, who had just invited him to his home to meet his wife.

“My home is not very far from here,” his new cousin said. “We’ll go back through this tunnel I’ve been making. The other end of it opens into my dwelling, some distance below the surface of the garden. Follow me and you’ll have no trouble finding it.”

But somehow Chirpy Cricket did not quite like the idea of travelling with the stranger, cousin though he might be, under Farmer Green’s garden. “Not to-day!” he said politely. “I haven’t had anything to eat since last night. And I don’t feel like taking a journey.”

“We’ll snatch a bite on the way to my house,” Mr. Mole Cricket suggested cheerfully. “I’ll dig out a few juicy roots for you. Which kind do you like best—beet, turnip or carrot?”

“I don’t like any of them,” Chirpy Cricket confessed.

“You don’t!” his cousin cried, as if he were astonished to hear that. “What do you live on, then?”

“Grass!” Chirpy answered.

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Mr. Mole Cricket. “And I must say you have queer tastes—even though you are my own cousin.”

Chirpy Cricket saw that he and Mr. Mole Cricket were bound to have trouble if they saw too much of each other. So he hinted—in a delicate way—that Mr. Mole Cricket’s wife must be wondering where he was.

Thereupon that gentleman started up hurriedly and made for his tunnel.

“I’ll see you again sometime,” he said hastily over his shoulder. And in another instant he was gone.

They never met again. Chirpy Cricket took great pains never to spend another day in hiding in Farmer Green’s garden. He was afraid there might be trouble if he saw more of his cousin. And he couldn’t forget those powerful forelegs and enormous feet of Mr. Mole Cricket! They looked very dangerous.

The longer Chirpy pondered over his brief meeting with Mr. Mole Cricket, the more firmly he made up his mind that he had been in great danger and that he had been lucky to escape alive. Everybody knew that Grandfather Mole was a terrible-tempered person when aroused. He would rush at anybody, big or little. Perhaps that was because he couldn’t see what sized person he was attacking. For Grandfather Mole was blind. But he never stopped to inquire of anybody whether he was tall or short, thick or thin. He just went ahead without asking.

“I’m glad,” thought Chirpy, “that I didn’t go home with Mr. Mole Cricket. If his wife’s feet are anything like his they’d be a fearful pair to quarrel with. And even if they hadn’t quarrelled with me, they might have had trouble between themselves. And if I happened to get in their way it would certainly have gone hard with me.”

Harmless Mr. Mole Cricket never knew what a monster his cousin Chirpy Cricket believed him to be. When he reached home he told his wife that he had met a queer little cousin who spent much of his time above ground and lived on grass.

But Mrs. Mole Cricket wouldn’t believe him. She told him not to be silly. She even said that there wasn’t any such thing as grass. And she asked him how anybody could live on it when there wasn’t any anywhere.

Naturally, she wouldn’t have talked like that if she had ever seen much of the world. But she had spent her whole life down in the dirt, beneath Farmer Green’s garden.