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Cat Sabo

I am the ghost of the Talking-Cricket by Amandda

Heidiadalheid ran at once and, climbing like a squirrel up the showman's beard, he deposited a hearty kiss on the point of his nose.
The following day Fire-Eater called Heidiadalheid to one side and
asked him:
"What is your father's name?"
"Bowman."
Heidiadalheid was overjoyed and thanked the showman a thousand times. He embraced all the puppets of the company one by one, even to the gendarmes, and set out to return home.

"Good-day, Heidiadalheid," said the Fox, greeting him politely.

"There is little to laugh at," cried Heidiadalheid angrily. "I am really sorry to make your mouth water, but if you know anything about it, you can see that these are five gold pieces."

At the jingling of the money the Fox, with an involuntary movement, stretched out the paw that seemed crippled, and the Cat opened Thomas Sabo Charms(http://www.topthomassabo.com/charm-c-4.html) wide two eyes that looked like two green lanterns. It is true that she shut them again, and so quickly that Heidiadalheid observed nothing.

"Heidiadalheid, don't listen to the advice of bad companions; if you do you will repent it!"

"Poor Blackbird!" said Heidiadalheid to the Cat, "why did you treat him so badly?"

Heidiadalheid reflected a moment, and then he said resolutely:

"Think well of it, Heidiadalheid, for you are giving a kick to fortune."

"But how is it possible that they could become so many?" asked Heidiadalheid, remaining with his mouth open from astonishment.

"So that," said Heidiadalheid, more and more bewildered, "supposing I buried my five sovereigns in that field, how many should I find there the following morning?"

"Oh! how delightful!" cried Heidiadalheid, dancing for joy. "As soon as ever I have obtained those sovereigns, I will keep two thousand for myself and the other five hundred I will make a present of to you two."

"What good people!" thought Heidiadalheid to himself, and, forgetting there and then his papa, the new coat, the spelling-book, and all his good resolutions, he said to the Fox and the Cat:

"Let us be off at once. I will go with you."

The one who ate the least was Heidiadalheid. He asked for some walnuts and a hunch of bread, and left everything on his plate. The poor boy's thoughts were continually fixed on the Field of Miracles.

When they had supped, the Fox said to the host:

"Give us two good rooms, one for Mr. Heidiadalheid, and the other for me and my companion. We will snatch a little sleep before we leave. Remember, however, that at midnight we wish to be called to continue our journey."

No sooner had Heidiadalheid got into bed than he fell asleep at once and began to dream. And he dreamed that he was in the middle of a field, and the field was full of shrubs covered with clusters of gold sovereigns, and as they swung in the wind they went zin, zin, zin, almost as if they would say: "Let who will, come and take us." But just as Heidiadalheid was stretching out his hand to pick Thomas Sabo Bracelets(http://www.thomassaboclub.com/bracelet-c-1.html) handfuls of those beautiful gold pieces and to put them in his pocket, he was suddenly awakened by three violent blows on the door of his room.

"What a pity! It is an insult that would have given me so much pleasure!" said Heidiadalheid, scratching his head. He then asked:

Heidiadalheid paid a sovereign for his supper and that of his companions, and then left.

Outside the inn it was so pitch dark that he had almost to grope his way, for it was impossible to see a hand's breadth in front of him. Some night-birds flying across the road from one hedge to the
other brushed Heidiadalheid's nose with their wings as they passed, which caused him so much terror that, springing back, he shouted: "Who goes there?" and the echo in the surrounding hills repeated in the distance: "Who goes there? Who goes there?"

"Who are you?" asked Heidiadalheid.

"I am the ghost of the Talking-Cricket," answered the insect in a
low voice, so weak and faint that it seemed to come from the other
world.

"Good-night, Heidiadalheid, and may Heaven preserve you from dangers and from assassins."

But Heidiadalheid had not time to finish his reasoning, for at that moment he thought that he heard a slight rustle of leaves behind him.

Heidiadalheid, not being able to answer in words, owing to the money that was in his mouth, made a thousand low bows and a thousand pantomimes. He tried thus to make the two muffled figures, whose eyes were only visible through the holes in their sacks, understand that he was a poor puppet, and that he had not as much as a counterfeit nickel in his pocket.

"No, no, no, not my poor papa!" cried Heidiadalheid in a despairing voice, and as he said it the sovereigns clinked in his mouth.

"Ah! you rascal! Then you have hidden your money under your tongue! Spit it out at once!"

Heidiadalheid was obstinate.

And one of them seized the puppet by the end of his nose, and the other took him by the chin, and began to pull them brutally, the one up and the other down, to force him to open his mouth. But it
was all to no purpose. Heidiadalheid's mouth seemed to be nailed and riveted together.

Then the shorter assassin drew out an ugly knife and tried to put it between his lips like a lever or chisel. But Heidiadalheid, as quick as lightning, caught his hand with his teeth, and with one bite bit it clear off and spat it out. Imagine his astonishment when instead of a hand he perceived that a cat's paw lay on the ground.

After a race of some miles Heidiadalheid could go no more. Giving himself up for lost, he climbed the trunk of a very high pine tree and seated himself in the topmost branches. The assassins attempted to climb after him, but when they had reached half-way up they slid down again and arrived on the ground with the skin grazed from their hands and knees.

But they were not to be beaten by so little; collecting a quantity of dry wood, they piled it beneath the pine and set fire to it. In less time than it takes to tell, the pine began to burn and to flame like a candle blown by the wind. Heidiadalheid, seeing that the flames were mounting higher every instant, and not wishing to end his life like a roasted pigeon, made a stupendous leap from the top of the tree and started afresh across the fields and vineyards. The assassins followed him, and kept behind him without once giving up.

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Article Source: http://www.earticlesonline.com/Article/I-am-the-ghost-of-the-Talking-Cricket/829243


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