One night when Chirpy Cricket was fiddling his prettiest, not far from the fence between the farmyard and the meadow, he had a queer feeling, as if somebody were gazing at him. And glancing up quickly, he saw that a plump person sat on a fence-rail, busily engaged in staring at him.

“How-dy do!” Chirpy Cricket piped; for the fat, four-legged person looked both cheerful and harmless. “I take it you’re fond of music.”

The stranger, whose name was Mr. Meadow Mouse, smiled. “I won’t dispute your statement,” he said.

“Perhaps you play some instrument yourself,” Chirpy observed.

But Mr. Meadow Mouse shook his head.

“No!” he replied. “No! To tell the truth, I haven’t much time for that sort of thing. Besides, it seems to me somewhat dangerous. I was wondering, while I watched you, whether you weren’t likely to fiddle yourself into bits—you were working so hard.”

Chirpy Cricket assured him that there wasn’t the least danger.

“All my family are famous fiddlers,” he said. “And I’ve never heard of such an accident happening to any of them.”

Mr. Meadow Mouse appeared to be slightly disappointed.

“I thought,” he said, “I could pick up the pieces for you, in case you fell apart.”

Dark as he was, Chirpy Cricket almost turned pale.

“You—you weren’t intending to—to swallow the pieces, were you?” he stammered.

“Dear me! No!” Mr. Meadow Mouse gasped. “I’m what’s known as a vegetarian.”

Well, when he heard that, Chirpy Cricket made ready to jump out of the stranger’s way. He didn’t know what a vegetarian was; but it sounded terrible to him.

Mr. Meadow Mouse must have guessed that Chirpy was uneasy. Anyhow, he hastened to explain that a vegetarian was one that ate only food that grew on plants of one kind or another.

“I live for the most part on seeds and grain,” he said. “So you see I’m quite harmless.”

Chirpy Cricket told him that he was glad to know it.

“I’m a vegetarian myself,” he added proudly, “for I eat blades of grass. And you see I’m harmless too.”

Mr. Meadow Mouse bestowed another fat smile on him.

“Then,” he said, “it must be quite safe for me to stay here and talk with you.”

Chirpy Cricket didn’t know why the plump gentleman was smiling, unless it was because he felt easy in his mind. Chirpy couldn’t help liking him, he was so friendly.

“I’ll play my favorite tune for you, if you wish,” Chirpy offered, being eager to do something pleasant for his new acquaintance.

“Do!” said Mr. Meadow Mouse. “And make it as lively as you please. For I’ve just dined well and I’m in a very cheerful mood.”

So Chirpy Cricket began his cr-r-r-i! cr-r-r-i! cr-r-r-i! while Mr. Meadow Mouse moved nearer and watched him closely. After a time he began to fidget. And at last he asked Chirpy if he wouldn’t please be still for a moment, because there was something he wanted to say.

Chirpy stopped fiddling.

“I notice,” said Mr. Meadow Mouse, “that you’re having some trouble tuning up your fiddle. So if you don’t mind I’ll go over in the cornfield on a matter of business and come back here later. Then, no doubt, you’ll be all ready to play a tune for me.”

Chirpy Cricket had to explain that he had been playing a tune all the time—that he always played on one note.

So Mr. Meadow Mouse stayed and heard more of the fiddling. He begged Chirpy’s pardon for his mistake. And he said that if he only had a fiddle he should like to learn the same tune himself. “Although,” he added, “it must be very difficult to play always on the same note. It must take a great deal of practice.”