"I certainly hope you aren't going to disappoint me?" Mr. Nighthawk whined, as he looked hungrily at Kiddie Katydid. "Please, please jump for me—just once!" he begged. "Here I've come all the way across the meadow on purpose to see what a fine jumper you are! And I shall feel very unhappy if you don't perform for me."

But Kiddie Katydid refused to budge.

"I hadn't intended to do any leaping to-night," he told Mr. Nighthawk. "And if I jumped for you, it would only upset my plans."

"I know—I know," said Mr. Nighthawk, nodding his head. "But I thought that just to oblige a friend you wouldn't object to jumping from this tree into that one." And he pointed to the nearest maple, the branches of which all but touched the tree-top in which they were sitting. But Kiddie Katydid's mind was made up.

"No jumping for me to-night!" he piped in a shrill voice.

All this time Mr. Nighthawk was growing hungrier than ever. And one might well wonder why he didn't make one quick spring at Kiddie Katydid and swallow him. But that was not Mr. Nighthawk's way of dining.

"Well," he said at last, "though you refuse to jump for me, won't you kindly call some other member of your family and ask him to oblige me?"

"I don't know where my relations are just now," replied Kiddie Katydid. "Some of them were here a while ago; but they went away." And that was quite true! At that peent—that first warning cry—of Mr. Nighthawk's, they had all vanished as if by magic, among the leaves.

"What about that Katy you're always talking about?" Mr. Nighthawk then inquired. "Don't you suppose you could find her and persuade her to do a little jumping for me—just to show me how it's done?"

"I'm sorry—" Kiddie said somewhat stiffly, "I'm sorry; but I must absolutely refuse to do such a thing. Now that you've mentioned her, I'll simply say Katy did. And beyond that I cannot discuss her with you."

"She did what?" Mr. Nighthawk wanted to know—through his nose.

But Kiddie Katydid declined to answer that question. He merely hugged his wings closer to his green body, and shot a sly glance at Mr. Nighthawk, as if to say, "Ah! That's for you to find out! But I shan't tell you!"

Mr. Nighthawk looked rather foolish. He had always supposed that any one who spent a good part of every night saying the same thing over and over and over again must be quite dull-witted. But now he began to think that perhaps Kiddie Katydid was brighter than the field people generally believed him to be. And when Kiddie suddenly asked him a question, he was sure of his mistake.

"Did you know," said Kiddie, "that Solomon Owl often visits these farm buildings?"

"Why, no! I wasn't aware of that," Mr. Nighthawk replied with a quick, nervous look behind him. "What brings him here?"

"Chickens!" Kiddie Katydid explained. "Solomon Owl is very fond of chickens. But they do say that he's not above eating a nighthawk when he happens to stumble upon one."