He found
out some willow trees whose branches broke easily, and soon had enough
to thrust into the ground about six inches apart around the entire
edge of his little field, which contained about one eighth of an acre.
After this hedge had grown so as to be a fair protection to his crop
he tried planting again at the proper season. He spaded up the ground
and pulled out the matted roots as best he could and with great pains
and care planted his corn in straight even rows. To make them straight
and each hill of corn the same distance from its neighbors, he first
marked off the ground in squares whose sides were about three and one
half feet long.
"Now," thought he, "I will reap the reward of my labor." The corn grew
rapidly, and toward the end of the first dry season was filling out
and ripening its ears. But to Robinson's dismay a new danger
threatened his crop against which he could not fence. He was in
despair. The birds were fast eating and destroying his partially
ripened corn. He could not husk it yet. It was not ripe enough. He
thought how easy it would be to protect his field if he had a gun.
But he had learned that it is useless to give time to idle dreaming.
He must do something and that quick.
"If I could catch some of these rascals," he thought, "I would hang
them up on poles, dead, as a warning to the rest." It seemed almost
a hopeless task, but he went about it. It was in vain he tried to kill
some of them by throwing rocks and sticks.
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