“What do you want with me?”
“I wish to warn you. Go back with your four gold pieces that you have left, to your papa, who cries and thinks he shall never see you again.”
“To-morrow my papa will be a very rich man, because these four pieces will become two thousand.”
“Do not trust any one who promises to make you rich in one night, my boy. Usually they are mad or deceitful. Listen to me and go back.”
“I want to go on.”
“The hour is late.”
“I want to go on.”
“The night is dark.”
“I want to go on.”
“The road is dangerous.”
“I want to go on.”
“Remember that boys who always do what they want to will sooner or later repent.”
“The same old story! Good night. Cricket.”
“Good night, and may Heaven save you from the assassins!”
The Talking Cricket had hardly said these words when he suddenly disappeared, just as if some one had blown a light out, and the road was darker than ever.
