He ducked his head and lifted up his wings, and a chirrup fluttered out of them and ran all round the dresser. It _was_ a chirrup! It wriggled in between the plates and dived into the soup-tureen, and climbed the tea-cup handles, and danced upon the saucers, until the sour deal boards, which had had all the softness scrubbed out of them (and were cross-grained to begin with), felt little thrills of pleasure running down their backs. Then it climbed up the wall and rattled the dish-covers, and at last it died away with a little squeak inside the coffee-pot. "What do you think of that?" said the Cricket triumphantly. "It's beautiful," said Winnie; "but where are you going?" "You'll see presently," said the Cricket; "and I wish you wouldn't chatter so. You nearly made me forget him." [Illustration: THE CRICKET WAS SITTING ON THE HEARTHSTONE WATCHING THE PEOPLE IN THE FIRE GOING TO CHURCH] "Forget who?" said Winnie. "Our drummer," said the Cricket. "Keep still--I heard him a minute ago." There was a long pause--so long that Winnie almost screamed, for there was nothing but the clock-tick to listen to. Then something joined the clock-tick--_One-two-three-four, pit-tip, tip-pit, one-two-three-four, pat-tap, tap-pat_ (just like soldiers a long way off, as Winnie explained), and presently the drummer himself appeared. He was a very small, squat, round-shouldered beetle, and he came out of a hole in the beam which ran across the ceiling. [Illustration: THE PAIR OF THEM DROPPED ... ON TO THE EDGE OF THE KITCHEN TABLE] "What a nuisance it all is!" he yawned. "I was just going off to sleep when I heard you. Is there no one else who can drum?" "No one who can drum like you," said the Cricket, which is far the best way to answer these questions. "Very well," said the Beetle, "but my wife must come too," and the pair of them dropped with two little flops on to the edge of the kitchen table. Then the clock chimed in--_one-two-three-four_, right away up to eleven. "Shall _I_ come too?" said a mean little oily voice from under the coal-scuttle. Winnie could just see the Cockroach's whiskers making quivery passes in the air, and she sat down and drew her nightie round her feet as tight as ever she could. She was quite relieved to hear the Cricket's answer. "Of course not," he said; "you never played anything in your life." "It's all the same to me," said the Cockroach. "I've given up those silly meadows long ago. Good-night, lunatics!" and he drew his whiskers in and disappeared. "Was that eleven?" said the House Cricket, taking no notice of his rudeness. "We've no time to lose then. Come along!"