MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



the goldenrod and ironwort, in gaudy border, filled the 

 fence corners of the big fields. A misty haze hung in 

 the air, because the Indians were burning the prairies 

 to round up game for winter. The cawing of the 

 crows, the chatter of blackbirds, and the piping bob- 

 whites, sounded so close and so natural out there, while 

 the crowing cocks of the barnyard seemed miles away 

 and slightly unreal. Grown up and important, I sat 

 on a board laid across the wagon bed, and guided the 

 team of matched grays between the rows of shocks, and 

 around the "pie-timber" as my brother Leander called 

 the pumpkins, while father and the boys opened the 

 shocks and husked the ears. How the squirrels scam- 

 pered to the woods, and to the business of storing away 

 the hickory nuts that we could hear rattling down every 

 frosty morning! We hurried with the com; because as 

 soon as the last shock was in, we might take the horses, 

 wagon, and our dinner, and go all day to the woods, where 

 we gathered our winter store of nuts. Leander would take 

 a gun along, and shoot one of those saucy squirrels for 

 the Uttle sick mother. 



Last came the November night, when the cold had 

 shut us in. Then selected ears that had been dried in 

 the garret were brought down, white for "rivel" and to 

 roll things in to fry and yellow for corn bread and 

 mush. A tub full of each was shelled, and sacked to 

 carry to the mill the following day. I sat on the floor 



