she cut off their tails with a carving knife

three blind mice see how they run

they all ran after”

The basses chased the tenors that chased the altos that chased the sopranos around and around until they were all lost and exhausted from laughing. It was such fun! Laura could last longer than anyone because Pa had taught her and Carrie and Grace to sing “Three Blind Mice” long ago.

Barnum grew so gentle that Laura and Almanzo could stay till the evening’s end, and at recess he and the other young men took striped paper bags of candy from their coat pockets and passed them around to the girls. There were pink-and-white striped peppermint balls, and sticks of lemon candy and peppermint candy and horehound candy. And on the way home Laura sang.

Oh childhood’s joys are very great,

A-swingin’ on his mother’s gate,

A-eatin’ candy till his mouth

Is all stuck up from north to south,

But though I have to mind the rule,

I’d rather go to singing school!”

“That’s why I thought you’d like to go,” Almanzo said. “You’re always singing.”

Each singing school night the class sang farther and farther over in the book. On the last night they sang the anthem at the very end; page one hundred forty-four. “The Heavens Declare the Glory.”

Then singing school was ended. There would be no more such gay evenings.

Barnum no longer reared and plunged. He started quickly, with a little jump, into a smooth trot. The air was chilled with the breath of coming winter. The stars were brilliant and hung low in the frosty air. Looking at them, Laura sang the anthem again.

“The heavens declare the glory of God and

The Firmament showeth His handiwork.

Day unto day uttereth speech, and

Night unto night showeth knowledge.

There is no speech nor language

Where their voice is not heard.”

There was no sound but the soft clip-clop of Barnum’s feet as he walked along the grassy prairie road.

“Sing the starlight song,” Almanzo asked, and Laura sang again, softly,

In the starlight, in the starlight,

At the daylight’s dewy close,

When the nightingale is singing

His last love song to the rose;

In the calm clear night of summer

When the breezes softly play,

From the glitter of our dwelling

Tags: Laura Ingalls Wilder Little House Classics
Source: readsnovelonline.net