IN HARVEST FIELDS
WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUMPKIN’
When the frost is on the punkin’ and the fodder’s in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock, And the clackin’ of the guiney’s, and the cluckin’ of the hens, And the rooster’s hallylcoyer as he tiptoes on the fence, O, it’s then’s the time a feller is a-feelin’ at his best, With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the punkin’ and the fodder’s in the shock. James Whitcomb Riley.
ORIGIN OF INDIAN CORN
Once upon a time an Indian chief sat alone in his wigwam thinking about the needs of his tribe. For more than a year food had been very scarce, and they were suffering from a scanty fare of roots, herbs, and berries. Many of the people had come to him in their misery.
“We ask you to help us, brave chief,” they cried. “Will you not entreat the Great Spirit to send us some of the food from the Happy Hunting Grounds where it is so plentiful? See how weak and thin our young braves are. Help us or we shall die.”
“I’ll go into the depths of the forest,” said the chief. “There I’ll live until the Great Spirit tells me how to relieve the misery of my people.”
He left his wigwam and walked far into the forest, where he waited for several days before the Great Spirit spoke these words to him: