The Long Winter (Little House 6)

Many a crest that is famous in story.”

Round and round they marched, Laura and Carrie and Grace, singing with all their might, thumping loud thumps of their shoes on the floor.

“Mount, and make ready, then,

Sons of the mountain glen,

Fight! for your homes and the old Scottish glory!”

They felt that banners were blowing above them and that they were marching to victory. They did not even hear the storm. They were warm to the tips of their toes.

Then the music ended and Pa laid the fiddle in its box. “Well, girls, it’s up to me to march out against this storm and make the stock comfortable for the night. Blamed if that old tune don’t give me the spunk to like fighting even a blizzard!”

Ma warmed his coat and muffler by the oven while he put away the fiddle-box. They all heard the wind howling furiously.

“We’ll have hot baked beans and hot tea waiting when you get back, Charles,” Ma promised him. “And then we’ll all go to bed and keep warm, and likely the storm’ll be over by morning.”

But in the morning Pa sang again his sunflower song. The window was the same white blur, the winds still drove the scouring snow against the shivering little shanty.

The blizzard lasted two more long days and two more nights.

Chapter 5

After the Storm

On the fourth morning, there was a queer feeling in Laura’s ears. She peeped from the qu

ilts and saw snow drifted over the bed. She heard the little crash of the stove lid and then the first crackling of the fire. Then she knew why her ears felt empty. The noise of the blizzard had stopped!

“Wake up, Mary!” she sang out, poking Mary with her elbow. “The blizzard’s over!”

She jumped out of the warm bed, into air colder than ice. The hot stove seemed to give out no heat at all. The pail of snow-water was almost solidly frozen. But the frosted windows were glowing with sunshine.

“It’s as cold as ever outside,” Pa said when he came in. He bent over the stove to thaw the icicles from his mustache. They sizzled on the stove-top and went up in steam.

Pa wiped his mustache and went on. “The winds tore a big piece of tar-paper off the roof, tight as it was nailed on. No wonder the roof leaked rain and snow.”

“Anyway, it’s over,” Laura said. It was pleasant to be eating breakfast and to see the yellow-glowing windowpanes.

“We’ll have Indian summer yet,” Ma was sure. “This storm was so early, it can’t be the beginning of winter.”

“I never knew a winter to set in so early,” Pa admitted. “But I don’t like the feel of things.”

“What things, Charles?” Ma wanted to know.

Pa couldn’t say exactly He said, “There’s some stray cattle by the haystacks.”

“Are they tearing down the hay?” Ma asked quickly.

“No,” said Pa.

“Then what of it, if they aren’t doing any harm?” Ma said.

“I guess they’re tired out by the storm,” said Pa. “They took shelter there by the haystacks. I thought I’d let them rest and eat a little before I drove them off. I can’t afford to let them tear down the stacks, but they could eat a little without doing any harm. But they aren’t eating.”

“What’s wrong then?” Ma asked.

“Nothing,” Pa said. “They’re just standing there.”