The boys bent four hills, lashed the tassels
together for a foundation, and then with one sweep of their knives,
they cut a hill at a time, and stacked it in large shocks, that lined
the field like rows of sentinels, guarding the gold of pumpkin and
squash lying all around. While the shocks were drying, the squirrels,
crows, and quail took possession, and fattened their sides against
snow time.
Then the gathering days of October--they were the best days of all!
Like a bloom-outlined vegetable bed, 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 greys 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.
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