“But it jumped at me!” “What jumped at you?” said I sternly. If there is anything that I dislike it is to be interrupted when I am reading. If interruptions ever came in the midst of prosy descriptions I would not mind it at all. I could even stand it in the midst of a digression (like the present one), but interrupters have the uncanny knack of timing their breaks so that just as the author has led up to a brilliant _mot_ and the moment is psychologically perfect, they say their little say and when the reading is resumed the humour or the wit of the sentence has evaporated. James now appeared in the doorway. “What jumped at Minerva, James?” “It was on’y a grasshopper, sir. Never saw anyone afraid of a grasshopper before.” “Why, Minerva!” said Ethel. “You said it looked like a horse.” James, with a chuckle, stooped and picked something from the floor. It bent its legs for a spring as he put his hand down and again Minerva screamed. It leaped with a thud against his palm and he held it between thumb and forefinger and said, “She’s right. It does look like a horse.” I had never noticed the resemblance before, but there was no gainsaying it, once our attention had been called to it. I imagine that if the head were increased to horse size and the body and legs were in proportion, it would be a more formidable looking beast than the hyena. And if a hyena were reduced to grasshopper size he would be as “cute” as a caterpillar. “Minerva,” said Ethel, “sit down. You may go, James. I wish you would not scare Minerva.” “Never thought she’d scare so easy, Mrs. Vernon,” said he respectfully. He was always respectful. He went out into the woodshed to split some kindlings. He had already split enough to last us all of a winter, but it was healthful exercise and I kept him at it when he was not singing or mowing the lawn. “Minerva, I don’t suppose that there is a more harmless insect in the world than a grasshopper,” said Ethel. “What are they for?” said Minerva. “Why—er,” said Ethel, while I held my book up before my face discreetly. “Why, they are to hop in the grass.” “Oh,” said Minerva. “Yes, they can hop many times the length of their own bodies.” “Oh,” said Minerva. Ethel made a mental calculation. “I should say, Minerva,” said she, “that a grasshopper can hop about one hundred and twenty times his own length. How tall are you?” “I’m five feet three,” was her unexpected answer.