the frogs could not be heard. There was no sound but the whispering of the prairie wind to break the silence.
The sun shining in Laura's face woke her to an empty day. The little work was soon done. There was nothing more to do, no books to study, no one to see. It was pleasant for a while. All that week Laura and Mrs.
McKee and Mattie did nothing but eat and sleep, and sit 119
and talk or be silent. The sun rose and sank and the wind blew, and the prairie was empty of all but birds and cloud shadows.
Saturday afternoon they dressed for town and walked the two miles to Manchester to meet Mr. McKee and walk home with him. He stayed until Sunday afternoon when they all walked to town again and Mr. McKee took the train back to De Smet and his work. Then Mrs.
McKee and Laura and Mattie walked back to the claim for another week.
They were glad when Saturday came, but in a way it was a relief when Mr. McKee was gone, for he was such a strict Presbyterian that on Sunday no one was allowed to laugh or even smile. They could only read the Bible and the catechism and talk gravely of religious subjects.
Still, Laura liked him, for he was truly good and kind and never said a cross word.
This was the pattern of the weeks that passed, one after another, all alike, until April and May were gone.
The weather had grown warmer, and on the walks to town they heard the meadow larks singing beside the road where spring flowers bloomed. One warm Sunday afternoon the walk back from Manchester seemed longer than usual and tiring, and as they lagged a little along the way Mrs. McKee said, “It would be pleasanter for you to be riding in Wilder's buggy.”
“I likely won't do that any more,” Laura remarked.
“Someone else will be in my place before I go back.”
She thought of Nellie Oleson. The Olesons' claim, she knew, was not far from Almanzo's.
“Don't worry,” Mrs. McKee told her. “An old bachelor doesn't pay so much attention to a girl unless he's serious. You will marry him yet.”
“Oh, no!” Laura said. “No, indeed I won't! I wouldn't leave home to marry anybody.”
Then suddenly she realized that she was homesick.
She wanted to be at home again, so badly that she could hardly bear it. All that week she fought against her long-ing, hiding it from Mrs. McKee, and on Saturday when they walked again to Manchester there was a letter waiting for her.
Ma had written that Mary was coming home, and Laura must come if Mrs. McKee could find anyone else to stay with her. Ma hoped she could do so, for Laura must be at home when Mary was there.
She dreaded to speak of it to Mrs. McKee, so she said nothing until at the supper table Mrs. McKee asked what was troubling her. Then Laura told what Ma had written.
“Why, of course you must go home,” Mr. McKee said at once. “I will find someone to stay here.”
Mrs. McKee was quiet for a time before she said, “I don't want anyone but Laura to live with us. I would rather stay by ourselves. We are used to the place now, and nothing ever happens. Laura shall go home and Mattie and I will be all right alone.”
So Mr. McKee carried Laura's satchel on the Sunday afternoon walk to Manchester, and she said good-by to Mrs. McKee and Mattie and got on the train with him, going home.
All the way she thought of them, standing lonely at the station, and walking the two miles back to the lonely shanty where they must stay, doing nothing but eating and sleeping and listening to the wind, for five months more. It was a hard way to earn a homestead, but there was no other way, for that was the law.
MARY COMES HOME
Laura was so glad to be at home again, out on Pa's claim. It was good to milk the cow, and to drink all she wanted of milk, and to spread butter on her bread, and eat again of Ma's good cottage cheese.
There were lettuce leaves to be picked in the garden, too, and little red radishes. She had not realized that she was so hungry for these good things to eat. Mrs. McKee and
The sun shining in Laura's face woke her to an empty day. The little work was soon done. There was nothing more to do, no books to study, no one to see. It was pleasant for a while. All that week Laura and Mrs.
McKee and Mattie did nothing but eat and sleep, and sit 119
and talk or be silent. The sun rose and sank and the wind blew, and the prairie was empty of all but birds and cloud shadows.
Saturday afternoon they dressed for town and walked the two miles to Manchester to meet Mr. McKee and walk home with him. He stayed until Sunday afternoon when they all walked to town again and Mr. McKee took the train back to De Smet and his work. Then Mrs.
McKee and Laura and Mattie walked back to the claim for another week.
They were glad when Saturday came, but in a way it was a relief when Mr. McKee was gone, for he was such a strict Presbyterian that on Sunday no one was allowed to laugh or even smile. They could only read the Bible and the catechism and talk gravely of religious subjects.
Still, Laura liked him, for he was truly good and kind and never said a cross word.
This was the pattern of the weeks that passed, one after another, all alike, until April and May were gone.
The weather had grown warmer, and on the walks to town they heard the meadow larks singing beside the road where spring flowers bloomed. One warm Sunday afternoon the walk back from Manchester seemed longer than usual and tiring, and as they lagged a little along the way Mrs. McKee said, “It would be pleasanter for you to be riding in Wilder's buggy.”
“I likely won't do that any more,” Laura remarked.
“Someone else will be in my place before I go back.”
She thought of Nellie Oleson. The Olesons' claim, she knew, was not far from Almanzo's.
“Don't worry,” Mrs. McKee told her. “An old bachelor doesn't pay so much attention to a girl unless he's serious. You will marry him yet.”
“Oh, no!” Laura said. “No, indeed I won't! I wouldn't leave home to marry anybody.”
Then suddenly she realized that she was homesick.
She wanted to be at home again, so badly that she could hardly bear it. All that week she fought against her long-ing, hiding it from Mrs. McKee, and on Saturday when they walked again to Manchester there was a letter waiting for her.
Ma had written that Mary was coming home, and Laura must come if Mrs. McKee could find anyone else to stay with her. Ma hoped she could do so, for Laura must be at home when Mary was there.
She dreaded to speak of it to Mrs. McKee, so she said nothing until at the supper table Mrs. McKee asked what was troubling her. Then Laura told what Ma had written.
“Why, of course you must go home,” Mr. McKee said at once. “I will find someone to stay here.”
Mrs. McKee was quiet for a time before she said, “I don't want anyone but Laura to live with us. I would rather stay by ourselves. We are used to the place now, and nothing ever happens. Laura shall go home and Mattie and I will be all right alone.”
So Mr. McKee carried Laura's satchel on the Sunday afternoon walk to Manchester, and she said good-by to Mrs. McKee and Mattie and got on the train with him, going home.
All the way she thought of them, standing lonely at the station, and walking the two miles back to the lonely shanty where they must stay, doing nothing but eating and sleeping and listening to the wind, for five months more. It was a hard way to earn a homestead, but there was no other way, for that was the law.
MARY COMES HOME
Laura was so glad to be at home again, out on Pa's claim. It was good to milk the cow, and to drink all she wanted of milk, and to spread butter on her bread, and eat again of Ma's good cottage cheese.
There were lettuce leaves to be picked in the garden, too, and little red radishes. She had not realized that she was so hungry for these good things to eat. Mrs. McKee and
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