tION by Doris Lessing February 26, 1955

    t year  as t gat too bad. Sters like to kno a simple t, born and broug got. teping. Margaret ill did not understand  altoget. But sting to learn ticed t for all Riceps, t go bankrupt. Nor did t very ricably.

    t rise up to— country, cold and dusty in er, but no monteamy  t rose in , soft iful it  -green folds and ry beneatains lying sy miles off, beyond t used to it. One does not look so muc ty. So t evening,   locusts are expected, coming doinct o look about  trees. Insects, s Ric mountaintop. “e  s in seven years,” one said, and ts do.” And this season!”

    But t on  as usual, until one day, ead for tepopped, raised ed. “Look, look!” ed. “they are!”

    Margaret  to join t t came ts from tcood and gazed. Over tain reak of rust-colored air. Locusts. they came.

    At once, Riced at tep to beat ty ploo summon t moments of crisis. to tore to collect tin cans—any old bits of metal. t of ting at ting excitedly. Soon to tephem orders: hurry, hurry, hurry.

    And off tes Margaret could see t ed field. tcivated soil, ced up t leaves onto to make t c-colored still, s as selepo say, Quick, quick, s! Old Smiten to t your fires started! For, of course, , it o  play fair. Everyryside, t anselepood cs. trange darkness, for t  fire,  comes doorted—a t orange. It oo, orm. ts . Noo tself.

    Margaret ep, finis every leaf and blade off t it’s only early afternoon. If tle sometle going. It’s ty his.”

    So Margaret