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Laura hesitated. “Do you really think I ought to? Can we afford it?” she asked.
“Laura!” Ma said. She meant, “Are you questioning what your Pa does?”
Quickly Laura said, “Oh, Pa, thank you!”
Then Ma said, “You are a good girl, Laura, and we want you to have the pleasures of other girls of your age. Before school tomorrow morning, if you hurry, you can run up the street and order your name cards.”
In her lonely bed that night without Mary, Laura felt ashamed. She was not truly good, like Ma and Mary and Ida Brown. At that very minute she was so happy to think of having name cards, not only because they were beautiful, but partly to be meanly even with Nellie Oleson, and partly to have things as nice as Mary Power and Minnie had.
Mr. Hopp promised that the cards would be ready on Wednesday at noon, and that day Laura could hardly eat her dinner. Ma excused her from doing the dishes, and she hurried to the newspaper office. There they were, delicate pink cards, with a spray of pinker roses and blue cornflowers. Her name was printed in thin, clear type: Laura Elizabeth Ingalls.
She had hardly time to admire them, for she must not be late to school. A long block from Second Street, she was hurrying along the board sidewalk, when suddenly a shining buggy pulled up beside it.
Laura looked up, surprised to see the brown Morgans. Young Mr. Wilder stood by the buggy, his cap in one hand. He held out his other hand to her and said, “Like a ride to the schoolhouse? You’ll get there quicker.”
He took her hand, helped her into the buggy, and stepped in beside her. Laura was almost speechless with surprise and shyness and the delight of actually riding behind those beautiful horses. They trotted gaily but very slowly and their small ears twitched, listening for the word to go faster.
“I—I’m Laura Ingalls,” Laura said. It was a silly thing to say. Of course he must know who she was.
“I know your father, and I’ve seen you around town for quite a while,” he replied. “My sister often spoke of you.”
“Such beautiful horses! What are their names?” she asked. She knew quite well, but she had to say something.
“The near one is Lady, and the other is Prince,” he told her.
Laura wished he would let them go faster—as fast as they could go. But it would not be polite to ask.
She thought of speaking about the weather, but that seemed silly.
She could not think of anything to say, and in all this time they had gone only one block.
“I have been getting my name cards,” she heard herself saying.
“That so?” he said. “Mine are just plain cards. I brought them out from Minnesota.”
He took one from his pocket and handed it to her. He was driving with one capable hand, keeping the lines in play between his gloved fingers. The card was plain and white. Printed on it in Old English letters was, Almanzo James Wilder.
“It’s kind of an outlandish name,” he said.
Laura tried to think of something nice to say about it. She said, “It is quite unusual.”
“It was wished on me,” he said grimly. “My folks have got a notion there always has to be an Almanzo in the family, because ’way back in the time of the Crusades there was a Wilder went to them, and an Arab or somebody saved his life. El Manzoor, the name was. They changed it after a while in England, but I guess there’s no way to improve it much.”
“I think it is a very interesting name,” said Laura honestly.
She did think so, but she did not know what to do with the card. It seemed rude to give it back to him, but perhaps he did not mean her to keep it. She held it so that he could take it back if he wanted to. The team turned the corner at Second Street. In a panic Laura wondered whether, if he did not take back his card, she should give him one of hers. Nellie had said it was proper to exchange name cards.
She held his card a little nearer to him, so that he could see it plainly. He went on driving.
“Do you—do you want your card back?” Laura asked him.
“You can keep it if you want to,” he replied.
“Then do you want one of mine?” She took one out of the package and gave it to him.
He looked at it and thanked her. “It is a very pretty card,” he said as he put it in his pocket.
They were at the schoolhouse. He held the reins while he sprang out of the buggy, took off his cap and offered his hand to help her down. She did not need help; she barely touched his glove with her mitten-tip as she came lightly to the ground.
