Free Little Town On The Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder Page A

winter hat of velvet, and knit some stockings for her, and Laura was knitting her a pair of mitts, of brown silk thread.
    “I can finish them in spare time,” Laura said.
    “We're through with the sewing, in time for me to help Pa make hay.”
    She liked working with Pa, and she liked working outdoors in the sun and wind. Besides, secretly she was hoping to leave off her corsets while she worked in the haying.
    “I suppose you may help to load the hay,” Ma agreed reluctantly, “but it will be stacked in town.”
    “Oh, Ma, no! Do we have to move to town again?”
    Laura cried.
    “Modulate your voice, Laura,” Ma said gently. "Remember, 'Her voice was ever gentle, low, and soft, an excellent thing in woman.'"
    “Do we have to go to town?” Laura murmured.
    “Your Pa and I think best not to risk a winter in this house until he can make it more weatherproof,” said Ma. “You know that we could not have lived through last winter here.”
    “Maybe this winter won't be so bad,” Laura pleaded.
    “We must not tempt Providence,” Ma said firmly.
    Laura knew it was decided; they had to live in town again next winter, and she must make the best of it.
    That evening when the flock of happy blackbirds was swirling at play in the sunset air above the oatfield, Pa took out his shotgun and shot them. He did not like to do it, and in the house no one liked to hear the shots, but they knew it must be done. Pa must protect the crops. The horses and Ellen and her calves would live on hay that winter, but the oats and the corn were cash crops. The y would sell for money to pay taxes and buy coal.
    As soon as the dew was off the grass next morning, Pa went out to cut it with the mowing machine. In the house Ma began to make Mary's velvet hat, and Laura busily knitted a brown silk mitt. At eleven o'clock Ma said, “Mercy, it's time to start dinner already. Run out, Laura, and see if you can find a mess of roasting ears to boil.”
    The corn was taller than Laura now, a lavish sight to see, with its long leaves rustling thickly and its nodding tasseled tops. As Laura went in between the rows, a great black swirl of birds rose up and whirled above her. The noise of their wings was louder than the rustling of all the long leaves. The birds were so many that they made a shadow like a cloud. It passed swiftly over the corn tops and the crowd of birds settled again.
    The ears of corn were plentiful. Nearly every stalk had two ears on it, some had three. The tassels were dry, only a little pollen was still flying and the cornsilks hung like thick, green hair from the tips of the green cornhusks. Here and there a tuft of cornsilk was turning brown, and the ear felt full in the husk when Laura gently pinched it. To make sure, before she tore it from the stalk, she parted the husks to see the rows of milky kernels.
    Blackbirds kept flying up around her. Suddenly she stood stock-still. The blackbirds were eating the corn!
    Here and there she saw bare tips of ears. The husks were stripped back, and kernels were gone from the cobs. While she stood there, blackbirds settled around her. Their claws clung to the ears, their sharp beaks ripped away the husks, and quickly pecking they swallowed the kernels.
    Silently, desperately, Laura ran at them. She felt as if she were screaming. She beat at the birds with her sunbonnet. The y rose up swirling on noisy wings and settled again to the corn, before her, behind her, all around her. The y swung clinging to the ears, ripping away the husks, swallowing the corn crop. She could do nothing against so many.
    She took a few ears in her apron and went to the house. Her heart was beating fast and her wrists and knees trembled. When Ma asked what was the matter, she did not like to answer. “ The blackbirds are in the corn,” she said. “Oughtn't I to tell Pa?”
    “Blackbirds always eat a little corn, I wouldn't worry about it,” said Ma. “You might take him a cold drink.”
    In the hayfield, Pa