Then Russ heard again the queer sound and at once it came to his mind what it was. He had often heard it before, back in Pineville on hot, summer days—just such a day as this was—toward the end of the season. “That isn’t a rattlesnake, Rose,” said Russ. “Don’t be a baby!” “What was it then?” she asked. “It sounded just like a rattlesnake. I mean like I think one would sound, for I never saw any.” “It was a locust,” answered Russ. “I guess it’s on this tree,” and he pointed to one near which they had been gathering flowers. “Yes, it’s on this tree, I see it!” he added, as the sound came again. “Come and watch how funny it does it, Rose. It jiggles itself all over.” “Are you sure it isn’t a snake?” she asked. “Of course I am!” said Russ. “Why, I’m looking right now at the locust. It’s low down. I never saw one so low. Most always when they sing out like that they’re high in the trees. Come quick, before it flies away.” Rose came over to Russ’s side. She looked to where he pointed and saw a curious winged insect that, just as Rose arrived, began to give forth its queer song. And, as Russ said, the locust seemed to “jiggle” all over. Its wings and legs trembled with the force of the noise it made. “Will it bite?” asked Rose. “I don’t know,” Russ answered. “I’m not going to put my finger near enough to find out. I heard Farmer Joel say the locusts ate up most of his garden one year, so I guess they must bite some things. Anyhow, it isn’t a rattlesnake.” “I’m glad of it,” answered Rose, with a breath of relief, as she picked up her scattered wild flowers. “Is anything the matter over there?” called Mrs. Bunker, as she saw Rose and Russ moving about the tree. “Rose thought she heard a rattlesnake, but it wasn’t,” Russ laughed. “What was it?” Violet wanted to know. “A locust,” Russ replied, and then all the children wanted to see the insect, watching it vibrate itself on a tree and make that queer sound. “I wonder what he would do if I tickled him?” said Laddie. And when he tried it, gently pushing the locust with a small twig, the insect quickly flew away. “I guess there are no rattlesnakes around here,” said Mrs. Bunker, when the excitement had died away. “Now go on with your flower-gathering, children. We must get some fine bouquets for Farmer Joel.” The wild flowers made a grand display in the Sunday-school room of the church, which was decorated with them for the annual festival. The six little Bunkers attended for a short time and had lots of fun. Mun Bun spilled his dish of ice cream in the lap of a lady next to whom he was sitting, and Margy tipped over her glass of lemonade, letting it run down the neck of her dress. This so excited her that she cried: “Oh, I’m getting drowned! I’m getting drowned!” But of course she wasn’t. It made some excitement, though.