Ben Gile began to swash his bucket up and down, up and down, in the stream until the water fairly rocked. Then he pulled the bucket out of the water, set it beside him, and reached out after a locust. "Here he is." There was a long pause. Betty thought he would never go on. "Well, once upon a time there was a little army and all its uniforms were brown and green, and from the meanest soldier in the ranks to the lieutenant-commander this little army was made up of insects who belonged to the same tribe. Let me see--there were the grasshoppers and the locusts and the katydids and the crickets." "Please, sir, were they cousins?" "I think they were, my dear. Yes, first cousins, and, unlike even my first cousins, they all have wings, and straight wings like this." The guide gently spread out one of the wings. "Just where the back of your chest is these wings grow--two pairs of wings, my dear, and two pairs of wings mean a good deal more than two pairs of new shoes. This first pair is straight and narrow and hard, because it is meant to cover the gauzy wings underneath. Puff!" Away flew the locust. "You see, he doesn't use his first pair, but holds them out straight from his body while he spreads out the gauzy ones like a--like a--" "Fan!" shouted Betty, quite forgetting the tiny squirrel who had come up near her, and, at her shout, nearly jumped out of his little red jacket. "A yellow fan," said the old man. "And some have a red fan. Well, I think," said he, reaching for his pail, "there isn't going to be any more of this story." "Not any more? But there must be more, sir; I've seen hundreds and hundreds of them on a dusty road, and, please, they're just the color of the dirt." The guide shook his head. "Not to-day." By this time Betty was so eager to have him go on that she had forgotten all about being afraid of him. "And when they whir up from the road, sir, they say, 'Clack! clack! clack!'" The old man made a sound like the noise of a locust. "How does it make its mouth move, sir?" "It doesn't make its mouth move, child. It makes the noise by striking the edges of the gauzy wings and hard wing covers together. See, this way!" And the old man struck his arm and leg together. "It has another fiddle, too, which it uses when it makes the long, rasping, drowsy sound of summer days. Then it rubs the rough edges of its hind leg against the edge of its wing-cover." "Please, is it happy, then?" asked Betty. "Just as happy as a healthy locust, who lives in long, sweet-smelling grass and is contented with his own singing, can be, and that is very happy." "Oh!" said Betty, "it doesn't use its mouth, then? Jimmie said it did."