XXVI. THE EARTHWORM HALF

BROTHERS

EARLY one wet morning a long earthworm came out of his burrow. He did not really leave it, but he dragged most of his body out, and just let the tip end of it stay in the earth.

Not having any eyes, he could not see the heavy gray clouds that filled the sky, nor the milkweed stalks, so heavy with raindrops that they drooped their pink heads. He could not see these things, but he could feel the soft, damp grass and the cool, clear air;

and as for seeing, why, earthworms never do have eyes, and never think of wanting them, any more than you would want six legs, or feelers on your head.

The Earthworm had been out of his burrow only a little while, when there was a flutter and a crash, and Something flew down from the sky and bit his poor body in two. Oh, how it hurt! Oh, how it hurt! Both halves of him wriggled and twisted, and there is no telling what might have become of them if another big Something had not come to drive the first Something away.

So there the poor Earthworm lay, in two aching, wriggling pieces, and although it had been easy to bite him in two, nothing in the world could ever bite him into one.

After a while the aching stopped, and he had time to think. It was very hard to decide what he ought to do. You can see just how puzzling it must have been, for if you should suddenly find yourself two people instead of one, you would not know which one was which. At this very minute, who should come along but the Cicada, and one of the Earthworm pieces asked his advice.

The Cicada thought he was the very one to advise in such a case, because he had had such a puzzling time himself, when he had crawled out of an old self and could see it by his side. So he said in a very knowing way: "Pooh! That is a very simple matter. I thought I was two cicadas once, but I was n't. The thinking, moving part is the real one, whatever happens, so that part of the worm which thinks and moves is the real worm."

"I am the thinking part," cried each of the pieces. The Cicada rubbed his head with his front legs, he was so surprised.

"And I am the moving part," cried each of the pieces, giving a little wriggle to prove it.

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Well, well, well, well!" exclaimed the Cicada, “I believe I don't know how to settle this. I will call the

Garter Snake."

And he flew off to get him.

A very queer couple they made, the Garter Snake and the Cicada, as they came hurrying back from the snake's home. The Garter Snake was quite excited. "Such a thing has not happened in our meadow for a long time," he said; "and it is a good thing there is somebody to explain it to you, or you would be dreadfully frightened. My family is related to the worms, and I know. Both of you pieces are worms now. The bitten ends will soon be well, and you can keep house side by side, if you don't want to live together."

"Well," said the Earthworms, "if we are no longer the same worm, but two worms, are we related to each other? Are we brothers, or what?"

'Why," answered the Garter Snake, with a funny little smile, "I think you might call yourselves halfbrothers." And to this day they are known as “the Earthworm Half-Brothers."

A jolly young Grasshopper, who is a great eater and thinks rather too much about food, said he would n't mind being bitten into two grasshoppers, if it would give him two stomachs, and let him eat twice as much.

The Cicada told the Garter Snake this one day, and the Garter Snake said: "Tell him not to try it. The Earthworms are the only meadow people who can live after being bitten in two in that way. The rest of us have to be one or nothing. And as for two stomachs, he is just as well off with one, for if he had two, he would get twice as hungry."

To remind you that all the animals are suited to their place in life, you will like to read this other story,

THE CONTENTED EARTHWORMS

After a long and soaking rain the Earthworms came out of their burrows; or rather they came part way out, for each Earthworm put out half his body, and as there were many of them and they lived near to each other, they could easily visit without leaving their own homes.

Two of these long slimy people were talking, when a Potato Bug strolled by. "You poor things," he said, "what a wretched life you must lead. Spending one's days in the dark earth must be very dreary."

Dreary!" exclaimed one of the Earthworms, “it is delightful. The earth is a snug and soft home. It is warm in cold weather and cool in warm weather.

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There are no winds to trouble us and there's no sun to scorch us."

"But," said the Potato Bug, "it must be very dull. Now out in the grass one finds beautiful flowers and so many families of friends."

"And down here," answered the Worm, "we have the roots. Some are brown and woody, like those of the trees, and some are soft and white and slender. They creep and twine until it is like passing through a forest to go among them.

"And then there are the seeds. Such busy times as there are in the ground in springtime! Each tiny seed awakens and begins to grow. Its roots must strike downward, and its stalk upward toward the light. Sometimes the seeds are buried in the earth with the root end up, and then they have a great time getting twisted around and ready to grow."

"Still, after the plants are all growing, and have their heads in the air, you must miss them."

We have the roots always," said the Worm. "And then, when the summer is over, the plants have done their work, helping to make the world beautiful and raise their seed babies, and they wither and droop to earth again, and little by little the sun and the frost and the rain help them to melt back into the earth.