the ant’s aunt had to give a picnic, because she had been invited to so many places by all her relatives, she thought it was time to pay back some of the invitations.
“but it will be such a bother,” said the ant’s uncle, when he heard about it.
“don’t be foolish, now,” replied the ant’s aunt. “we cannot go in society without going to some trouble.”
so the ant’s uncle said that it would be all right, for he always said something of that kind when his wife talked about giving a party.
he was sleeping early the next morning, when his wife woke him and said: “benjamin, benjamin, did you remember to get the lemons and the sugar?”
“no,” replied the ant’s uncle, as he rolled over again in bed. “the grocery store was closed.”
“then you will have to go into the kitchen of the man’s house and get as much as you can carry before the cook gets up.”
“the last time i was there,” muttered benjamin, “i nearly got blown up with the kerosene can.”
by the time the ant’s uncle got back to his house he found more than a hundred ants of all kinds walking up and down and carrying all kinds of provisions.
“you are very late,” said the ant’s aunt. “what did you do about the swing, benjamin? did you stop and see the spider about it?”
benjamin had forgotten all about the swing, so he had to go back to where the spider kept a shop, and he came back after a while with a wheelbarrow loaded down with rope. the ant’s aunt was lame, and she had to walk with a cane. she was at the head of the picnic party and benjamin, the ant’s uncle, came last of all with his wheelbarrow filled with rope and baskets and sugar and lemons and tubs and glasses and everything which might be used on a picnic. the ants went to deacon jones’ woods, and as they got nearer, they heard all kinds of strange noises. all the animals and all the birds came out to see the picnic go by. the ants walked on until they came to a bare spot in the middle of the woods, and there they stopped and put down their bundles and baskets.
“this will be a nice place to set the table,” said the ant’s aunt. “now, benjamin, while i am doing all the work, suppose you go and put up the swing for the children.”
the ant’s uncle said something underneath his breath and then he took the rope and the boards and things and put up 153 swings. he hurt his knee and sprained his back and cut his fingers. he also stubbed his toes.
“you needn’t feel so badly about hurting your toes,” said a centipede, who stopped to look, “suppose you had toes on 100 feet to stub, then you could afford to talk.”
the ant’s uncle returned to the place where the table was being set. he threw his hat over on the grass and sat down, saying, “i am very tired and a little rest would do me a great deal of good.”
“benjamin, benjamin,” cried the ant’s aunt, “how could you do such a thing?”
“why, just you see what uncle benjamin did,” cried all the small ants at once.
“you ought not to be so careless,” replied benjamin, “how was i to know that it was a custard pie? i thought it was a nice cushion you put there for me.”
the ant’s uncle started to get his hat and walk away. he had not gone very far before he became red in the face with anger.
“get off my hat,” all the ants heard him say, “how dare you sit on a poor ant’s hat like that. haven’t you any manners?”
“what is the matter, benjamin?” asked the ant’s aunt, picking up her cane and hobbling toward her husband.
“this miserable man,” yelled the ant’s uncle, “has the impudence to sit down on my hat and he won’t get up.”
the man looked in the direction of benjamin and then yawned and got up and walked away.
“benjamin, benjamin,” cried the ant’s aunt, a few minutes later, “little betsy ann has come back and she says that nearly a dozen of the children started to climb a mountain and the mountain got up and walked away. won’t you please go and try and find them?”
the ant’s uncle jammed his crushed silk hat down over his eyes, picked up a big switch and went to find the children. he walked and walked until he came to a place where a whole lot of men and women were sitting in a circle while the mosquitos ate them. the men and women were eating pickles and dry sandwiches and trying to look happy. uncle benjamin hurried down the middle of the tablecloth, calling, “children, children,” at the top of his voice. everywhere he went he met some of those miserable little children who had run away from their own picnic. he found them sitting on the edge of a sponge cake dangling their feet and kicking holes in the icing. they were perched on loaves of bread and up on top of a plate of sliced ham, they were playing hide and seek. some of them had climbed up into a great big tin reservoir. there were all their clothes on the edge and they were having a swim.
“didn’t i tell you not to go near the water?” asked uncle benjamin, shaking his switch. “now, where do i find you?”
“it isn’t water,” said all the children ants; “it’s lemonade.”
[40]
it took the ant’s uncle more than an hour to get all the children together.
“why don’t you come away from here?” he said. “don’t you hear all the men and women talking and saying that it would be such a delightful place here if it were not for those miserable ants?”
“they didn’t say a word,” replied the children, “until you came.”
this made uncle benjamin so angry that he swung his switch and chased all the children before him back to the place where the table of the ants’ picnic had been spread. way over to one side was the ant’s aunt all alone. she had her handkerchief to her eyes, and was crying as though her heart would break.
“why, what’s the matter?” asked uncle benjamin. “what in the world has happened?”
“why, can’t you see?” replied the ant’s aunt. “a miserable man came this way and stepped right on the table, and when he lifted up his foot everything was ruined.”
“come on, children,” said uncle benjamin, “let us all go back to the men’s picnic. after he has treated us this way, he deserves that we should tease him and all his family.”
that is the reason that, when men and women give picnics all the ants in the neighborhood go and plague them.
