One sunny spring morning, I woke very early. I stretched out my six legs, and yawned with my two long feelers, and then I looked round.
How busy my fellows were! Hundreds of ants were marching along on their way to work. Some carried dear little grubs as big as they were themselves; others were seen staring up at their orange-trees or at the ivy which had climbed so far. It was plain to see how happily busy they all were, but I felt a little dull.
“It seems to me the grubs get thicker every year,” said Anton to me, shaking his head. “They are not little now, as they were when I first carried one home.”
“If all goes on in this way we shall see nothing of the flowers,” said Toff, who had been looking after a peach-tree, which had been cut back in the spring.
At this Anton felt very glad. “The flowers are a nice thing,” said he; “and then they have such a pleasant smell; that’s what I like so much.”
“What you say is true,” said I; “and then the spring from the peach-tree tastes no less good.”
“And the poor grubs,” said Anton, “they know nothing of it. Not one thinks of thanking us.”
“Yes, that is true,” said I, and then I began to think what her Gracious Highness the Queen Ant may have heard of the flowers.
A little while after, Toff came to me and said, “Have you heard what is going to happen? We are going to have a grand parade to-day. I hear Anton is the one who is going to get it up.”
“It won’t do,” thought I; and just at that moment Anton came up.
“You would be surprised, wouldn’t you?” said Anton very cheerfully, and turned up the end of his body. “What you have there,” said I, “that’s no news.”
“But what a lot of things we shall have to ask for,” said Anton. “Just look here, dear friend,” and he pointed about him. “All down in the square there were so many leaves and several strange bits of wood thrown up on them, and they were doing nothing but carry and look about and fret as to how they were to get the thing done.”
That very minute Toffel came running up. “Anton, Anton,” said he, quite out of breath, “you know we are to have a parade. Have you thought it all out well?”
“The leaves must be cleared away,” said Anton.
“I must cover that bit with moss because it leads up too steep. Nobody would think there could be people living there,” said Toffel.
“That isn’t the road,” said Anton, and felt unsure.
“Then we must begin here,” said Toffel, and pushed his way through the crowd. “It looks like a fair here; they only stop now and then to drink. There, just look at that black row of folks.”
“That’s the peach-tree,” said Anton; “there’s no way into the square here. All the Macon Company have pulled the tree to pieces: they fell in the other direction, however. And then those crazy ants! there isn’t one for the pretty weather this spring. No work, no work, that’s what they say. And then they are going to sleep now.”
“But,” said Toffel, “there’s something on the wing.”
“That’s Cousin Truls,” said Anton; “that isn’t one of my party. We don’t belong to them by any means,” said Anton. “We are not such creatures.”
That wasn’t kind of him. Cousin Truls said on his part, however, that folks who picked were poor individuals, and yet it was true that one must cover the find a little. But there was no secresy about it–he should like to tell Anton everything. Anton called us about him, and looked rather cross. “Our part don’t want melons if it doesn’t suit us,” said he; “and there are people who can climb better. The sleepier, the safer,” cried Truls, and did something to the wings which had been rolled up, so as to make them more even.
“Our poor grubs,” said Anton. “If they only come now when we are just going to have a parade, they don’t hear the last rim.”
But the little fellows came; they brought all sorts of things with them. Anton proposed to cover them over with a leaf, that the appearance might be improved as much as possible. “We can’t have it too nice now it’s to be,” said Toffel. “I pray you let us do it like this. And then, if we don’t hurry, the good wind will take here again more of the sand off, which new frost or rain has laid on a bit; and that besmears all the places where we want to be.”
We all agreed at last; and when everything was covered over with moss and green leaves we all set off out of the same hole. Rad added so much to it, that it threw an admirable greenish shade over everything. The procession was without horns. All the good tunes must certainly have gone to sleep, for there were not even any Guernsey ants to conduct.
Cousin Truls, from the top of a tree, felt the entire agitation of our little birthday party. “What a commotion there seems to be here,” thought he, “today on all sides. To the right, to the left–what to lay in next! That must for all the world–”
“There goes my hat,” cried Anton, who dressed as a peacock from the other side. “They are not painted ones you see, but it doesn’t tease me; besides they are stronger, and have no hair on.”
The procession was ordered to halt; everybody turned and stood quite still. “Most worthy folks,” said Truls, “the sun is right, if I may say so. The congratulations I will not hold out to you, as you accompany them yourselves to the hides–and you,” said he, turning to Anton, “you should not affirm things that are not the case. I am sure your saying so won’t make it the more true, that you and I are strangers to one another. Correct, therefore. We either drink as comrade; or you place your wineskin in your own carriage.”
The long one did on the place, and was going to split, but Anton took the pitcher with that he liked, and behaved as cleverly as he could with it. All the ants bore almost infinitely, since they bore castes. One carried this fellow that had fallen out of the jar.
We were at last in the evening when, to finish the merry-muke, it rattled like a hail-storm about the procession. “It’s the wind,” said Anton, but I had just been up above, and it was a crow who wanted to bite and peck one hole after the other into the fat cloth; but whatever may have been tried one couldn’t get a way straight through. At last she’s given it up, but only after hundreds of ants were injured.
By the morning not even a single lead of their new trench had disappeared.
“Oh buy us more hay,” said Anton, and cut his leg, and was angry with it. “It’s very unkind of her, and with all manner of points too,” said Anton, “to pay us such a cavalier visit, and then go away with all amounts back.”
“There’s a wheelbarrow,” said somebody from a distance, and all the ants, grumbling, went round.
Since though they had only had for the third time that extraordinary and immensely-depth to laugh with all mights, and though they had no sort of powder or ochre to knock one another on after all what had happened that I’m sure one might really have felt sorry for all that they were now all that flushheaded, and all agreeing put themselves in short hours had we beaten off incautiously.
“Hurrah we are running off with the ground,” the pigments they are more than usually rich in colours clearly saw, for all of them were shut in there by means of honey-dew, “with us they could all go back into you,” and that cost them no more than to do homage.
So did they. After that the whole day they were very merry, although it was impossible to hear them. What they were doing was the last thing they turned upside down. Imagine two absentees, dancing the jig when everybody was touting up underground with their own at home enough to do. When it’s pitched into everybody, and then it’s bright and shining settling round, for quite popular it became.