“You have met the Diptera, or Two Wings,” he said. “That’s easy. Then you’ve met the Neuroptera, or Nerve Wings. That’s easy too. And now you have met the Orthoptera, or Straightwings, meaning me, and if I’m not easy, I should like to know who is. You see our wings are——” “Wings?” said Ruth in surprise. “Of course. Look here,” and opening his straight wing covers, Mr. Grasshopper showed as nice a pair of wings as one could wish to possess. “Not all of us have wings,” he added, folding his own away, “but those of us who have not live under stones. Our order includes graspers, walkers, runners, and jumpers. Not all are musicians. The graspers live only in hot countries. Maybe you have seen the picture of one of them—the praying mantis he is called, just because he holds up his front legs as if he were praying. But it isn’t prayers he is saying. He is waiting for some insect to come near enough so he may grab and eat it. That will do for him. Next come the walkers. The walking stick is one, and he isn’t a good walker either, but the stick part of the name fits him. He is dreadfully thin. There is one on that twig now, and he looks so much like the twig you can scarcely tell which is which.” “Why, so he does,” said Ruth, poking her finger at the twig Mr. Grasshopper pointed out. “Isn’t he funny?” “Indeed,” grumbled the walking stick. “Maybe you think it polite to come staring at a fellow, and sticking your finger at him, and then call him funny, but I don’t. I want to look like a twig. That’s why I am holding myself so stiff. I have a cousin in the Tropics who has wings just like leaves.” “Yes,” added the grasshopper, “and his wife is so careless she just drops her eggs from the tree to the ground and never cares how they fall.” “Well, if that suits her no one else need object,” snapped the walking stick. “I believe in each one minding his own business.” “An excellent idea,” said Mr. Grasshopper. “Now let me see, where was I? Oh! the runners; but you’ll excuse me, I will not speak of them at all. They include croton bugs and cock roaches, and it is quite enough to mention their names. With the jumpers it is different. They are the most important members of the order. I’m a jumper, I am also a true grasshopper. You can tell that by my long slender antennæ, longer than my body. For that reason I am called a longhorn, but my antennæ are really not horns.” “I don’t see how any one _could_ call them horns,” said Ruth.