These Happy Golden Years (Little House 8)

With Barnum’s first leap, Laura’s heart had leaped too, up into her throat where it nearly choked her. Now they were out on the prairie again. She pulled steadily on the right-hand line, and again Barnum turned. Very quickly the other side of the church was coming toward her, and Laura pulled on both lines. Barnum almost paused, then with a rearing plunge he was running again.

This time Laura’s heart stayed in its place. She pulled with her right arm, and Barnum circled neatly. They passed around the church, and Laura rose a little from the seat. With all her weight she pulled. And Barnum stopped. He reared at once, and leaped and ran.

“All right, run,” Laura thought. She held him firmly; she guided him around the circle on the prairie, and again she braced her feet and pulled with all her might. This time, Almanzo got into the buggy. As he did so, the church door opened. All the singing school pupils came pouring out, and someone shouted, “Need help?”

Barnum rose straight up in the air, and came down running.

Almanzo’s hands closed on the lines ahead of Laura’s, and slid back as she let go. She was glad to let him have the lines.

“Just in time,” he said. “We never would have got away if that crowd had swarmed around us. Was it too much for you?”

Laura was shaking. Her hands were numb, and it was hard to keep her teeth from chattering, so she only said, “Oh, no.”

For a moment or two Almanzo spoke to Barnum, who soon began to trot. Then Laura said, “Barnum wasn’t bad. He was just tired of standing still so long.”

“He was plain mad about it,” Almanzo said. “Next time we’ll leave at recess.” He added, “Let’s go home the long way, it is such a nice night for a drive.”

He turned Barnum to the road that crossed the western end of Big Slough. The wind blew softly in the prairie grass, and above the dark land hung myriads of large stars quivering with light.

On and on Barnum trotted, gently now as if he, too, were enjoying the quietness of the night and the brilliant stars.

Almanzo spoke quietly. “I don’t know when I ever saw the stars so bright.”

Then Laura began to sing softly.

“In the starlight, in the starlight,

Let us wander gay and free,

For there’s nothing in the daylight

Half so dear to you and me.

Like the fairies in the shadow

Of the woods we’ll steal along,

And our sweetest lays we’ll warble,

For the night was made for song.

When none are by to listen,

Or to chide us in our glee,

In the starlight, in the starlight,

Let us wander gay and free.”

Barnum stopped at the door and stood quietly while Laura got out. Almanzo said, “I’ll be along Sunday afternoon.”

“I will be ready,” Laura answered. Then she went in.

Pa and Ma were waiting up for her. Ma gave a little sigh of relief, and Pa asked, “Does that devil horse of Wilder’s drive all right at night?”

“He is really a gentle horse,” said Laura. “And he stood so quietly when I got out. I like him.”

Ma was satisfied, but Pa looked at her sharply. It was not a lie; she had spoken the truth, and she could not tell them how she had driven Barnum. That would worry them, and perhaps they would forbid her to do it again. She intended to drive Barnum. When she and Barnum were used to each other, perhaps, just perhaps, she could make him act gently.