noon
Burned up , slicker 'n a whistle . And mother , '' he persisted , holding up her tear-stained face smilingly , `` have you happened to consider that there ai n't a blamed grasshopper in a hundred miles ? '' THE first deep snow of the winter , dropping gently from a wide , dun sky , rested in white folds on the new straw roofs of the sod buildings , crested the low stacks that had been hauled from distant meadows not swept by the fire , covered the cinder-strewn gaps in the yard where the granaries had stood , and hid under a shining , jeweled pall the stripped fields and the somber prairie . The little girl 's mother , stringing pop-corn in the kitchen for the Christmas tree at the school-house , looked out toward noon to see the farm restored , as if by enchantment , to the aspect of other and happier winters ; and sorrowfully welcomed the winding-sheet that gave promise of the coming resurrection , when the grass and flowers should rise again from out the naked , charred ground , bright and glorious with the fresh-born spring . It had seemed to her , ever since the terrible holocaust of a few months before , as if the Bad Lands had moved eastward upon them . Yet , however sad was the sight of their loss and the sense of their privation , she counseled against selling out at a small figure and moving to some State where prairie fires were unknown , and bravely determined to stay and fight back to rough comfort and plenty . `` The snow will help us to forget , '' she said to the biggest brother , as she took a hot , crammed popper from him and emptied it into a milk-pan .