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Ma still did not want to go west. She looked around the kitchen, at Carrie and at Laura standing there with Grace in her arms.
“Charles, I don’t know,” she said. “It does seem providential, fifty dollars a month. But we’re settled here. We’ve got the farm.”
“Listen to reason, Caroline,” Pa pleaded. “We can get a hundred and sixty acres out west, just by living on it, and the land’s as good as this is, or better. If Uncle Sam’s willing to give us a farm in place of the one he drove us off of, in Indian Territory, I say let’s take it. The hunting’s good in the west, a man can get all the meat he wants.”
Laura wanted so much to go that she could hardly keep from speaking.
“How could we go now?” Ma asked. “With Mary not strong enough to travel.”
“That’s so,” said Pa. “That’s a fact.” Then he asked Aunt Docia, “The job wouldn’t wait?”
“No,” Aunt Docia said. “No, Charles. Hi is in need of a man, right now. You have to take it or leave it.”
“It’s fifty dollars a month, Caroline,” said Pa. “And a homestead.”
It seemed a long time before Ma said gently, “Well, Charles, you must do as you think best.”
“I’ll take it, Docia!” Pa got up and clapped on his hat. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I’ll go see Nelson.”
Laura was so excited that she could hardly do the housework properly. Aunt Docia helped, and while they worked she told the news from Wisconsin.
Her sister, Aunt Ruby, was married and had two boys and a beautiful little baby girl named Dolly Varden. Uncle George was a lumberjack, logging on the Mississippi. Uncle Henry’s folks were all well, and Charley was turning out better than had been expected, considering how Uncle Henry had spared the rod and spoiled that child. Grandpa and Grandma were still living in the old place, their big log house. They could afford a frame house now, but Grandpa de
clared that good sound oak logs made better walls than thin sawed boards.
Even Black Susan, the cat that Laura and Mary had left behind when they rode away from their little log house in the woods, was still living there. The little log house had changed hands several times, and now it was a corncrib, but nothing would persuade that cat to live anywhere else. She went right on living in the corncrib, sleek and plump from rats she caught, and there was hardly a family in all that country that didn’t have one of her kittens. They were all good mousers, big-eared and long-tailed like Black Susan.
Dinner was ready in the swept, neat house when Pa came back. He had sold the farm. Nelson was paying two hundred dollars cash for it, and Pa was jubilant. “That’ll square up all we owe, and leave a little something over,” he said. “How’s that, Caroline!”
“I hope it’s for the best, Charles,” Ma replied. “But how—”
“Wait till I tell you! I’ve got it all figured out,” Pa told her. “I’ll go on with Docia tomorrow morning. You and the girls stay here till Mary gets well and strong, say a couple of months. Nelson’s agreed to haul our stuff to the depot, and you’ll all come out on the train.”
Laura stared at him. So did Carrie and Ma. Mary said, “On the train?”
They had never thought of traveling on the train. Laura knew, of course, that people did travel on trains. The trains were often wrecked and the people killed. She was not exactly afraid, but she was excited. Carrie’s eyes were big and scared in her peaked little face.
They had seen the train rushing across the prairie, with long, rolling puffs of black smoke streaming back from the engine. They heard its roar and its wild, clear whistle. Horses ran away, if their driver could not hold them when they saw a train coming.
Ma said in her quiet way, “I am sure we will manage nicely with Laura and Carrie to help me.”
Chapter 2
Grown Up
There was a great deal of work to be done, for Pa must leave early next morning. He set the old wagon bows on the wagon and pulled the canvas cover over them; it was almost worn out but it would do for the short trip. Aunt Docia and Carrie helped him pack the wagon, while Laura washed and ironed, and baked hardtack for the journey.
In the midst of it all, Jack stood looking on. Everyone was too busy to notice the old bulldog, till suddenly Laura saw him standing between the house and the wagon. He did not frisk about, cocking his head and laughing, as he used to do. He stood braced on his stiff legs because he was troubled with rheumatism now. His forehead was wrinkled sadly and his stub-tail was limp.
“Good old Jack,” Laura told him, but he did not wag. He looked at her sorrowfully.
“Look, Pa. Look at Jack,” Laura said. She bent and stroked his smooth head. The fine hairs were gray now. First his nose had been gray and then his jaws, and now even his ears were no longer brown. He leaned his head against her and sighed.
All in one instant, she knew that the old dog was too tired to walk all the way to Dakota Territory under the wagon. He was troubled because he saw the wagon ready to go traveling again, and he was so old and tired.
“Pa!” she cried out. “Jack can’t walk so far! Oh, Pa, we can’t leave Jack!”
“He wouldn’t hold out to walk it for a fact,” Pa said. “I’d forgot. I’ll move the feedsack and make a place for him to ride here in the wagon. How’ll you like to go riding in the wagon, huh, old fellow?”
