The mother had been gone but a few minutes when the farmer who
owned the field and his son came out to look at the wheat.

"This grain is ready to cut," said the farmer to his son. "This
evening go to our neighbor, Mr. White, and ask him to cut it for
us to-morrow."

The little larks were much frightened. They could hardly wait for
their mother to get home.

"Oh, mother!" they called out as soon as they saw her; "do take us
away from this field. The farmer has sent for Mr. White to cut
this wheat to-morrow."

"If that is so," said the mother, "you need have no fear. If he
waits for his neighbor to do his work, his wheat will not be cut."

Late the next afternoon while the mother lark was away, the farmer
and his son came to the field again.

"Did you ask Mr. White to reap the grain?" said the farmer.

"Yes," replied his son, "and he promised to come."

"But he has not come," said the farmer, "and it is so late that I
know he will not come to-day. The wheat will spoil if it is not
cut. If our neighbors will not help us, we shall have to call upon
our relatives. Go out this afternoon and ask your uncle John and
his sons to cut the wheat for us to-morrow."