More came, and more, and ever more, and
as they came they spread out till they
covered a big corner of the grain field. And
still more and more, till it was like an
army of black, hopping, crawling crickets,
streaming down the side of the mountain
to kill the crops.
The men tried to kill the crickets by
beating the ground, but the numbers were
so great that it was like beating at the sea.
Then they ran and told the terrible news,
and all the village came to help. They
started fires; they dug trenches and filled
them with water; they ran wildly about in
the fields, killing what they could. But
while they fought in one place new armies
of crickets marched down the mountain-
sides and attacked the fields in other places.
And at last the people fell on their knees
and wept and cried in despair, for they saw
starvation and death in the fields.
A few knelt to pray. Others gathered
round and joined them, weeping. More
left their useless struggles and knelt
beside their neighbors. At last nearly all the
people were kneeling on the desolate fields
praying for deliverance from the plague of
crickets.
Suddenly, from far off in the air toward
the great salt lake, there was the sound
of flapping wings. It grew louder. Some
of the people looked up, startled. They
saw, like a white cloud rising from the lake,
a flock of sea gulls flying toward them.
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