As soon as Kiddie Katydid mentioned the word music, Freddie Firefly began to dance and shout.

"There!" he cried. "You've just the same as told me that I was right. If you sang your Katy did, Katy did; she did, she did, you would call it singing. But since you make that ditty by rubbing your wing covers together, it is music. And you just referred to it as such!"

Well, Kiddie Katydid couldn't say a single word. Freddie Firefly was right. They both knew it. And the secret was hopelessly "out." In fact, it was a secret no longer—unless Kiddie Katydid could persuade Freddie Firefly to keep the news to himself.

"You won't say anything about this little matter, I hope," Kiddie began.

"Won't I?" said Freddie Firefly. "Why, I just couldn't help telling people what I've learned! It's the biggest bit of news that I've known since I've lived in Pleasant Valley. And I must get word of it to old Mr. Crow somehow."

"Why Mr. Crow?" Kiddie Katydid inquired anxiously. He knew that the old gentleman was a great gossip. "You might as well put this in a newspaper as tell Mr. Crow about it."

"Ah! That's just the point!" cried Freddie. "Mr. Crow is a newspaper. Perhaps you didn't know it; but every Saturday he flies over Blue Mountain to the pond where Brownie Beaver lives and tells Brownie all the news of the past week."

"Then for pity's sake, don't let him hear of this!" Kiddie begged.

But nothing could have stopped Freddie Firefly.

"You're too modest," he said. "It's a shame to be able to make music the way you do and not let the neighbors know it. Why, the first thing you know you'll be one of the most famous people in this whole valley."

"But I don't want to be!" Kiddie Katydid cried. "I'm not like you. You go dancing about every night, flashing your light so everyone can see you. But I stay among the trees and shrubs. And I even wear a green suit—which matches the color of the leaves—so people won't notice me. Of course," Kiddie added, "I don't mind if the public hears my music. But I don't care to be seen, as a rule. And I don't like callers a bit!"

"You don't, eh?" remarked Freddie Firefly. "Then it's time for me to be moving along. For I never stay where I'm not welcome." And he flitted away, feeling somewhat peevish—and all the more determined to get the news of the discovered secret to Mr. Crow at the earliest possible moment.

How he was going to do that he didn't quite know.

There was little chance of his seeing Mr. Crow, for the old gentleman only waked up at the time Freddie Firefly was ready to go to bed—about dawn.

He was pondering over his difficulty, which bothered him not a little, when a terrific croaking from the direction of the swamp reached his ears. It was the final chorus of the Frog family's nightly singing party. And it promptly put an idea into Freddie Firefly's head.

"I'll hurry right over there and speak to Mr. Frog, the well-known tailor," he said to himself. "He knows old Mr. Crow. He sees him almost every day. And he'll be glad to give the old gentleman a message."