Book 7, 14. THE SCHOOL BOARD’S VISIT | Little House On The Prairie By Laura Ingalls Wilder

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Laura thought that Nellie Oleson looked surprised and disappointed when she and Carrie came into the schoolhouse next morning. Nellie might have expected that they would not come back to school.

“Oh, I’m glad you’ve come back!” Mary Power said, and Ida gave Laura’s arm a warm little squeeze.

“You wouldn’t let her meanness keep you away from school, would you, Laura?” Ida said.

“I wouldn’t let anything keep me from getting an education,” Laura replied.

“I guess you wouldn’t get an education if you were expelled from school,” Nellie put in.

Laura looked at her. “I’ve done nothing to be expelled for, and I won’t do anything.”

“You couldn’t be, anyway, could you, with your father on the school board,” said Nellie.

“I wish you’d stop talking about Pa’s being on the school board!” Laura burst out. “I don’t know what business it is of yours if—” The bell began to ring then, and they all went to their seats.

Carrie was carefully good, and in obedience to Pa, Laura was well-behaved, too. She did not think then of the Bible verse that speaks of the cup and the platter that were clean only on the outside, but the truth is that she was like that cup and platter. She hated Miss Wilder. She still felt a burning resentment against Miss Wilder’s cruel unfairness to Carrie. She wanted to get even with her. Outside, she was shining clean with good behavior, but she made not the least effort to be truly good inside.

The school had never been so noisy. All over the room there was a clatter of books and feet and a rustle of whispering. Only the big girls and Carrie sat still and studied. Whichever way Miss Wilder turned, unruliness and noise swelled up behind her. Suddenly there was a piercing yell.

Charley had leaped to his feet. His hands were clapped to the seat of his trousers. “A pin!” he yelled. “A pin in my seat!”

He held up a bent pin for Miss Wilder to see. Her lips pressed tight together. This time she did not smile. Sharply she said, “You may come

here, Charley.”

Charley winked at the room, and went trudging up to Miss Wilder’s desk.

“Hold out your hand,” she said, as she reached inside her desk for her ruler. For a moment she felt about for it, then she looked into the desk. Her ruler was not there. She asked, “Has anyone seen my ruler?”


Not a hand was raised. Miss Wilder’s face went red with anger. She said to Charley, “Go stand in that corner. Face to the wall!”

Charley went to the corner, rubbing his be- hind as if he still felt the pin-prick. Clarence and Alfred laughed aloud. Miss Wilder turned toward them quickly, and even more quickly Charley looked over his shoulder and made such a face at her that all the boys burst out laughing. Charley was so quick that she saw only the back of his head when very quickly she turned to see what caused the laughter.

Three or four times she turned quickly this way and that, and Charley turned more quickly, making faces at her. The whole school was roaring. Only Laura and Carrie were able to keep their faces perfectly straight. Even the other big girls were strangling and choking in their handkerchiefs.

Miss Wilder rapped for order. She had to rap with her knuckles, she had no ruler. And she could not keep order. She could not watch Char- ley every minute, and whenever her head was turned, he made a face at her and laughter broke out.

The boys were not breaking their promise to Laura, but they were contriving to be even naughtier than they had promised not to be. And Laura did not care. Truth to tell, she was pleased with them.

When Clarence slid out of his seat and came up the aisle on all fours, she smiled at him.

At recess, she stayed in the schoolhouse. She was sure the boys were planning more mischief, and she meant to be where she could not hear them.

After recess, the disorder was worse. The boys kept paper wads and spitballs flying on their side of the room. All the smaller girls were whispering and passing notes. While Miss Wilder was at the blackboard, Clarence went down the aisle on hands and knees, Alfred followed him, and Charley, lightfooted as a cat, ran down the aisle and leap-frogged over their backs.

They looked for Laura’s approval, and she smiled at them.

“What are you laughing at, Laura?” Miss Wilder asked sharply, turning from the black- board.

“Why, was I laughing?” Laura looked up from her book and sounded surprised. The room was quiet, the boys were in their seats, everyone seemed to be busily studying.

“Well, see that you don’t!” Miss Wilder snapped. She looked sharply at Laura, then turned to the blackboard, and almost everyone but Laura and Carrie burst out laughing.

All the rest of the morning, Laura was quiet and kept her eyes on her lessons, only stealing a glance at Carrie now and then. Once Carrie looked back at Laura. Laura put a finger to her lips, and Carrie bent again over her book.

With so much noise and confusion behind her whichever way she turned, Miss Wilder grew confused herself. At noon she dismissed school half an hour early, and again Laura and Carrie were asked to explain their early arrival at home. They told of the disorder in school, and Pa looked serious. But all he said was, “You girls be very sure that you behave yourselves. Now re- member what I say.”

They did. Next day the disorder was worse. The whole school was almost openly jeering at Miss Wilder. Laura was appalled at what she had started, by only two smiles at naughtiness. Still she would not try to stop it. She would never for- give Miss Wilder’s unfairness to Carrie. She did not want to forgive her.

Now that everyone was teasing, baiting, or at least giggling at Miss Wilder, Nellie joined in. She was still teacher’s pet, but she repeated to the other girls everything that Miss Wilder said and laughed at her. One day she told them that Miss Wilder’s name was Eliza Jane.

“It’s a secret,” Nellie said. “She’s told me a long time ago, but she doesn’t want anyone else out here to know it.”

“I don’t see why,” Ida wondered. “Eliza Jane is a nice name.”

“I can tell you why,” said Nellie. “When she was a little girl, in New York State, a dirty little girl came to school and Miss Wilder had to sit with her, and”—Nellie drew the others close and whispered—“she got lice in her hair.”

They all backed away, and Mary Power ex- claimed, “You shouldn’t tell such horrid things, Nellie!”

“I wouldn’t, only Ida asked me,” said Nellie. “Why, Nellie Oleson, I did no such thing!”

Ida declared.

“You did so! Listen,” Nellie giggled. “That isn’t all. Her mother sent a note to the teacher, and the teacher sent the dirty little girl home, so everyone knew about it. And Miss Wilder’s mother kept her out of school a whole morning to fine-comb her hair. Miss Wilder cried and cried, and she dreaded so to go back to school that she walked slow and was late. At recess her whole class made a ring around her and kept yelling, ‘Lazy, lousy, Lizy Jane!’ And from that day to this, she just can’t bear her name. As long as she was in that school, that’s what anyone called her that got mad at her, ‘Lazy, lousy, Lizy Jane!’”

She said it so comically that they laughed, though they were a little ashamed of doing so.

Afterward, they agreed that they would never tell Nellie anything, because she was two-faced.

The school was so noisy that it was not really school anymore. When Miss Wilder rang the bell, all the pupils joyfully trooped in to annoy her. She could not watch every one of them at once, she could hardly ever catch anyone. They banged their slates and their books, they threw paper wads and spitballs, they whistled between their teeth and scampered in the aisles. They were all together against Miss Wilder, they delighted in harassing and baffling and hounding her and jeering.

That feeling against Miss Wilder almost frightened Laura. No one could stop them now. The disorder was so great that Laura could not study. If she could not learn her lessons, she could not get a teacher’s certificate soon enough to help keep Mary in college. Perhaps Mary must leave college, because Laura had twice smiled at naughtiness.

She knew now that she should not have done that. Yet she did not really repent. She did not for-


give Miss Wilder. She felt hard and hot as burning coal when she thought of Miss Wilder’s treatment of Carrie.

One Friday morning Ida gave up trying to study in the confusion and began to draw on her slate. The whole First spelling class was making mistakes on purpose and laughing at them. Miss Wilder sent the class to the board to write the les- son. Then she was caught between the pupils at the board and those in the seats. Ida was busily drawing, swinging her feet and humming a little tune in her throat without knowing it, and Laura kept her fists clamped to her ears and tried to study.

When Miss Wilder dismissed school for recess, Ida showed Laura the picture she had drawn. It was a comic picture of Miss Wilder, so well done that it looked exactly like her, only more so. Under it Ida had written, We have lots of fun going to school, Laugh and grow fat is the only rule,

Everyone laughs until their sides ache again.

At lazy, lousy, Lizy Jane.

“I can’t get the verse just right, somehow,” Ida said. Mary Power and Minnie were admiring the picture and laughing, and Mary Power said, “Why don’t you get Laura to help you, she makes good verses.”

“Oh, will you, Laura? Please,” Ida asked. Laura took the slate and the pencil, and while the others waited, she thought of a tune and fitted words to it. She meant only to please Ida, and per- haps, just a little, to show off what she could do. She wrote, in the place of the verse that Ida had erased,

Going to school is lots of fun, From laughing we have gained a ton, We laugh until we have a pain,

At lazy, lousy, Lizy Jane. Ida was delighted, and so were the others. Mary Power said, “I told you Laura could do it.” At that moment Miss Wilder rang the bell. The whole recess had gone, as quickly as that.

The boys came in, making all the noise they could, and as Charley passed by and caught sight of the slate, Ida laughed and let him take it.

“Oh, no!” Laura cried in a whisper, but she was too late. Until noon the boys were slipping that slate from one to another, and Laura feared that Miss Wilder would capture it, with Ida’s drawing and her handwriting on it. Laura breathed a great sigh of relief when the slate came slipping back, and Ida quickly cleaned it with her slate-rag.

When they all went out to the crisp, sunny outdoors to go home for dinner, Laura heard the boys chanting all along the road to Main Street,

“Going to school is lots of fun, From laughing we have gained a ton, We laugh until we have a pain, AT LAZY, LOUSY, LIZY JANE!”


Laura gasped. She felt sick for a minute. She cried out. “They mustn’t! We must stop them. Oh, Mary Power, Minnie, come on, hurry.” She called, “Boys! Charley! Clarence!”

“They don’t hear you,” Minnie said. “We couldn’t stop them, anyway.”

Already the boys were separating at Main Street. They were only talking, but Laura had   no more than sighed in relief when one began   to chant again, and others joined in. “Going to school is lots of fun—” Both up and down Main Street they yelled,


“Oh, why haven’t they better sense!” Laura said.

“Laura,” said Mary Power, “there’s just one thing to do. Don’t tell who wrote that. Ida won’t, I know. I won’t, and Minnie won’t, will you, Minnie?”

“Cross my heart,” Minnie promised. “But what about Nellie Oleson?”

“She doesn’t know. She was talking with Miss Wilder, the whole recess,” Mary Power reminded them. “And you’ll never tell, will you, Laura?”

“Not unless Pa or Ma asks me, straight out,” said Laura.

“Likely they won’t think to, and then nobody will ever know,” Mary Power tried to comfort Laura.

While they were eating dinner, Charley and Clarence passed by, chanting that frightful verse, and Pa said, “That sounds like some song I don’t know. You ever hear a song before about lazy, lousy, Lizy Jane?”

“I never did,” said Ma. “It doesn’t sound like a nice song.”

Laura did not say a word. She thought she had never been so miserable.

Around the schoolhouse the boys were chanting that verse. Nellie’s brother Willie was with them. Inside the schoolhouse Ida and Nellie were standing at the window farthest from Miss Wilder. She must have known that Nellie had told. 

Nellie was furious. She wanted to know who had written that verse, but Ida had not told her and none of the others would. No doubt her brother Willie knew or would find out. He would tell her and then she would tell Miss Wilder.

After school that night, and again on Saturday, the boys could be heard chanting those words. In the bright, clear weather they were all outdoors. Laura could almost have welcomed a blizzard to shut them in. She had never felt so ashamed, for she had spread Nellie’s mean tattle- telling farther than Nellie ever could have. She blamed herself, yet she still blamed Miss Wilder far more. If Miss Wilder had been only decently fair to Carrie, Laura never could have got into such trouble.

That afternoon Mary Power came to visit. Often on Saturday afternoons she and Laura visited and worked together. They sat in the pleas- ant, sunny, front room.

Laura was crocheting a nubile of soft white wool, for Mary’s Christmas present in college, and Mary Power was knitting a silk necktie for her father’s Christmas. Ma rocked and knitted, or sometimes read interesting bits to them from the church paper, The Advance. Grace played about, and Carrie sewed a nine-patch quilt block.

Those were such pleasant afternoons. The winter sunshine streamed in. The room was pleasantly warm from the coal heater. Kitty, grown now to a cat, stretched and lazily purred in the sunshine on the rag rug, or curved purring against the front door, asking with a miaow to be let out to watch for dogs.

Kitty had become famous in town. She was such a pretty cat, such a clean blue and white, with slender body and long tail, that everyone wanted to pet her. But she was a one-family cat. Only the family could touch her. When anyone else stooped to stroke her, she flew snarling and clawing into his face. Usually someone screeched, “Don’t touch that cat!” in time to save him.

She liked to sit on the front doorstep and look about the town. Boys, and sometimes the men, would set a new dog on her to see the fun. Kitty sat placidly while the dog growled and barked, but she was always ready. When the dog rushed, she rose in air with a heart-stopping yowl and landed squarely on the dog’s back with all claws sunk into it. The dog went away from there.

They went in a streak, Kitty silently riding and the dog ki-yi-yowling. When Kitty thought she was far enough from home she dropped off, but the dog went on. Then Kitty walked home with proudly upright tail. Only a new dog could be set on Kitty.

Nothing could be a greater pleasure than those Saturday afternoons, when Mary Power’s friendliness was added to the coziness of home, and Kitty might furnish exciting entertainment. Now Laura could not truly enjoy even this. She sat dreading to hear the boys chanting that verse again, and in her chest was a gloomy weight.

“I should make a clean breast of it, to Pa and Ma,” she thought. She felt again a scalding fury against Miss Wilder. She had not meant to do harm when she wrote that verse; she had writ- ten it at recess, not in school hours. It was all too difficult to explain. Perhaps, as Ma had said, it would blow over. Least said, soonest mended. Yet at that moment perhaps someone was telling Pa.

Mary Power was troubled, too. They both made mistakes and had to unravel stitches. Never had they accomplished so little in a Saturday afternoon. Neither of them said a word about school. All the pleasure was gone from school. They were not looking forward to Monday morning.

That Monday morning was the worst yet. There was no pretense of study. The boys whistled and cat called and scuffled in the aisles. All the little girls but Carrie were whispering and giggling and even moving from seat to seat. Miss Wilder’s, “Quiet, please! Please be quiet!” could hardly be heard.

There was a knock at the door. Laura and Ida heard it; they sat nearest the door. They looked at each other, and when the knock came again, Ida raised her hand. Miss Wilder paid no attention.

Suddenly a loud knock sounded on the entry’s inner door. Everyone heard that. The door opened


and the noise died away to silence. The room grew deathly still as Pa came in. Behind him came two other men whom Laura did not know.

“Good morning, Miss Wilder,” said Pa. “The school board decided it was time to visit the school.”

“It is about time that something was done,” Miss Wilder returned. She flushed red and then went pale while she answered, “Good morning,” to the other two men and welcomed them, with Pa, to the front of the room. They stood looking over it.

Every pupil was perfectly still, and Laura’s heart pounded loud.

“We heard you have been having a little trouble,” the tall, solemn man said gravely but kindly.

“Yes, and I am very glad of this opportunity to tell you gentlemen the facts of the case,” Miss Wilder replied angrily. “It is Laura Ingalls who makes all the trouble in this school. She thinks she can run the school because her father is on the school board. Yes, Mr. Ingalls, that is the truth!

She brags that she can run this school. She didn’t think I would hear of it, but I did!” She flashed a glance of angry triumph at Laura.

Laura sat dumbfounded. She had never thought that Miss Wilder would tell a lie.

“I am sorry to hear this, Miss Wilder,” said Pa. “I am sure that Laura did not intend to make trouble.”

Laura raised her hand, but Pa lightly shook his head at her.

“She encourages the boys to be unruly, too. That is the whole trouble with them,” Miss Wilder declared. “Laura Ingalls eggs them on, in every kind of mischief and disobedience.”

Pa looked at Charley and his eyes were twinkling. He said, “Young man, I hear you got punished for sitting on a bent pin.”

“Oh, no, sir!” Charlie replied, a picture of innocence. “I was not punished for sitting on it, sir, but for getting up off it.”

The jolly member of the school board suddenly choked a laugh into a cough. Even the solemn man’s mustache twitched. Miss Wilder flushed dark red. Pa was perfectly sober. No one else felt like smiling.

Slowly and weightily, Pa said, “Miss Wilder, we want you to know that the school board stands with you to keep order in this school.” He looked sternly over the whole room. “All you scholars must obey Miss Wilder, behave yourselves, and learn your lessons. We want a good school, and we are going to have it.”




When Pa spoke like that, he meant what he said, and it would happen.

The room was still. The stillness continued after the school board had said good day to Miss Wilder and gone. There was no fidgeting, no whispering. Quietly every pupil studied, and class after class recited diligently in the quiet.

At home Laura was quiet, too, wondering what Pa would say to her.  It was not her place to speak of what had happened, until he did. He said nothing about it until the supper dishes were washed and they were all settled for the evening around the lamp.

Then laying down his paper he looked at Laura and said slowly, “It is time for you to ex- plain what you said to anyone, that you could give Miss Wilder the idea that you thought you could run the school because I am on the school board.”

“I didn’t say such a thing, and I did not think so, Pa,” Laura said earnestly.

“I know you didn’t,” said Pa. “But there was something that gave her such an idea. Think what it could have been.”

Laura tried to think. She was not prepared for this question, for she had been defending herself in her mind and declaring that Miss Wilder had told a lie. She had not looked for the reason why Miss Wilder told it.

“Did you speak to anyone about my being on the school board?” Pa prompted her.

Nellie Oleson had often spoken of that, but Laura had only wished that she wouldn’t. Then she remembered the quarrel, when Nellie had al- most slapped her. She said, “Nellie Oleson told me that Miss Wilder said you haven’t much to say about the school, even if you are on the school board. And I said—”

She had been so angry that it was hard to re- member exactly what she had said. “I said that you have as much to say about the school as anybody. Then I said, ‘It’s too bad your father doesn’t own a place in town. Maybe if you weren’t just country folks, your father could be on the school board.’”

“Oh, Laura,” Ma said sorrowfully. “That made her angry.”

“I wanted to,” said Laura. “I meant to make her mad. When we lived on Plum Creek she was always making fun of Mary and me because we were country girls. She can find out what it feels like, herself.”

 “Laura, Laura,” Ma protested in distress. “How can you be so unforgiving? That was years ago.”

“She was impudent to you, too. And mean to Jack,” Laura said, and tears smarted in her eyes.

“Never mind,” Pa said. “Jack was a good dog and he’s gone to his reward. So, Nellie twisted what you said and told it to Miss Wilder, and that’s made all this trouble. I see.” He took up his paper. “Well, Laura, maybe you have learned a lesson that is worth while. Just remember this, ‘A dog that will fetch a bone, will carry a bone.’”

For a little while there was silence, and Carrie began to study her spelling. Then Ma said, “If you will bring me your album, Laura, I would like to write in it.”

Laura fetched her album from her box up- stairs, and Ma sat at the desk and carefully wrote in it with her little pearl-handled pen. She dried the page carefully over the lamp, and returned the album to Laura.

On the smooth, cream-colored page, in Ma’s fine handwriting, Laura read: NAME CARDS

After all the preparation for winter, it seemed that there would be no winter. The days were clear and sunny. The frozen ground was bare of snow.

The fall term of school ended and Miss Wilder went back to Minnesota. The new teacher, Mr. Clewett, was quiet but firm, a good disciplinarian. There was not a sound in school now, except the low voices of classes reciting, and in the rows of seats every pupil diligently studied.

All the big boys were coming to school. Cap Garland was there, his face tanned dark red- brown and his pale hair and pale blue eyes seeming almost white. His smile still flashed quick as lightning and warmer than sunshine. Everyone remembered that he had made the terrible trip with Almanzo Wilder, last winter, to bring the wheat that saved them all from dying of hunger. Ben Woodworth came back to school, and Fred Gilbert, whose father had brought in the last mail after the trains stopped running, and Arthur John- son, Minnie’s brother.

Still there was no snow. At recess and at noon the boys played baseball, and the big girls did not play outdoors anymore.

Nellie worked at her crocheting. Ida and Minnie and Mary Power stood at the window, watching the ball games. Sometimes Laura stood with them, but usually she stayed at her desk and studied. She had a feeling of haste, almost of fear, that she would not be able to pass the examinations and get a teacher’s certificate when she was six- teen. She was almost fifteen now.

“Oh, come on, Laura. Come watch this ball game,” Ida coaxed one noon. “You have a whole year to study before you need to know so much.”

Laura closed her book. She was happy that the girls wanted her. Nellie scornfully tossed her head. “I’m glad I don’t have to be a teacher,” she said. “My folks can get along without my having to work.”

With an effort Laura held her voice low and answered sweetly. “Of course, you needn’t, Nel- lie, but you see, we aren’t poor relations being helped out by our folks back east.”

Nellie was so angry that she stammered as she tried to speak, and Mary Power interrupted her coolly. “If Laura wants to teach school, I don’t know that it’s anybody’s business. Laura is smart. She will be a good teacher.”

“Yes,” Ida said, “She’s far ahead of—” She stopped because the door opened and Cap Gar- land came in. He had come straight from town and he had in his hand a small striped paper bag.

“Hello, girls,” he said, looking at Mary Power, and his smile lighted up as he held out the bag to her. “Have some candy?”

Nellie was quick. “Oh, Cappie!” she cried, taking the bag. “How did you know that I like candy so much? The nicest candy in town, too!” She smiled up into his face with a look that Laura had never seen before. Cap seemed startled, then he looked sheepish.

“Would you girls like some?” Nellie went on generously, and quickly she offered each one the opened bag, then taking a piece herself, she put the bag in her skirt pocket.

Cap looked pleadingly at Mary Power, but she tossed her head and looked away. Uncertainly he said, “Well, I’m glad you like it,” and went out to the ball game.

The next day at noon he brought candy again. Again, he tried to give it to Mary Power, and again Nellie was too quick.

“Oh, Cappie, you are such a dear boy to bring me more candy,” she said, smiling up at him. This time she turned a little away from the others. She had no eyes for anyone but Cap. “I mustn’t be a pig and eat it all myself, do have a piece, Cappie,” she coaxed. He took a piece and she rapidly ate all the rest while she murmured to Cap how nice he was, and so tall and strong.

Cap looked helpless yet pleased. He would never be able to cope with Nellie, Laura knew. Mary Power was too proud to enter into competition with her. Angrily Laura wondered, “Must a girl like Nellie be able to grab what she wants?” It was not only the candy.

Until Mr.Clewett rang the bell, Nellie kept Cap by her side and listening to her. The others pretended not to notice them. Laura asked Mary Power to write in her autograph album. All the girls but Nellie were writing in each other’s al- bums. Nellie did not have one.

Mary Power sat at her desk and carefully wrote, with ink, while the others waited to read the verse when she finished it. Her writing was beautiful, and so was the verse she had chosen.

The rose of the valley may wither, The pleasures of youth pass away, But friendship will blossom forever While all other flowers decay.

Laura’s album had many treasures in it now. There was the verse that Ma had written, and on the next page was Ida’s.

In memory’s golden casket, Drop one pearl for me.

Your loving friend,

Ida B. Wright.

Every now and then Cap looked helplessly at them over Nellie’s shoulder, but they paid no attention to him or Nellie. Minnie Johnson asked Laura to write in her album, and Laura said, “I will, if you’ll write in mine.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t write as beautifully as Mary does. Her writing is just like copper plate,” Minnie said, and she sat down and wrote.

When the name that I write here

 Is dim on the page

And the leaves of your album Are yellow with age,

Still think of me kindly And do not forget

That wherever I am I remember you yet.

Minnie Johnson.

Then the bell rang, and they all went to their seats.

That afternoon at recess, Nellie sneered at autograph albums. “They’re out of date,” she said. “I used to have one, but I wouldn’t have one of the old things now.” No one believed her. She said, “In the east, where I come from, it’s name cards that are all the rage now.”

“What are name cards?” Ida asked.

Nellie pretended to be surprised, then she smiled, “Well, of course you wouldn’t know. I’ll bring mine to school and show you, but I won’t give you one, because you haven’t one to give me. It’s only proper to exchange name cards.

Everybody’s exchanging name cards now, in the east.”

They did not believe her. Autograph albums could not be out of style, because theirs were al- most new. Ma had brought Laura’s from Vinton, Iowa, only last September. On the way home after school, Minnie Johnson said, “She’s just bragging. I don’t believe she had name cards, I don’t believe there’s any such a thing.”

But next morning she and Mary Power were so eager to see Laura that they waited for her to come out of the house. Mary Power had found out about name cards. Jake Hopp, who ran the newspaper, had them at the newspaper office next to the bank. They were colored cards, with colored pictures of flowers and birds, and Mr. Hopp would print your name on them.

“I don’t believe Nellie Oleson has any,” Minnie still declared. “She only found out about them before we did, and she plans to get some and pretend they came from the east.”

“How much do they cost?” Laura asked.

“That depends on the pictures, and the kind of printing,” Mary told them. “I’m getting a dozen, with plain printing, for twenty-five cents.”

Laura said no more. Mary Power’s father was the tailor and he could work all winter, but now there was no carpentering work in town and would be none till spring. Pa had five to feed at home, and Mary to keep in college. It was folly even to think of spending twenty-five cents for mere pleasure.

Nellie had not brought her name cards that morning. Minnie asked her, as soon as they gathered around the stove where she was warming her hands after her long, chilly walk to school.

“My goodness, I forgot all about them!” she said. “I guess I’ll have to tie a string on my finger to remind me.” Minnie’s look said to Mary Power and Laura, “I told you so.”

At noon that day Cap did bring candy again, and as usual Nellie was nearest the door. She began to coo, “Oo-oo, Cappie!” and just as she was grasping the bag of candy, Laura reached and whisked it from her surprised hand, and gave it to Mary Power.

Everyone was startled, even Laura. Then Cap’s smile lighted his whole face, he glanced gratefully at Laura and looked at Mary.

“Thank you,” Mary said to him. “We will all enjoy the candy so much.” She offered it to the others, while as he went out to the ball game Cap gave one backward look, a grin of delight.

“Have a piece, Nellie,” Mary Power invited. “I will!” Nellie took the largest piece. “I do

like Cap’s candy, but as for him—pooh! you may have the greeny.”

Mary Power flushed, but she did not answer. Laura felt her own face flame. “I guess you’d take him well enough if you could get him,” she said. “You knew all the time he was bringing the candy to Mary.”

“My goodness, I could twist him around my finger if I wanted to,” Nellie bragged. “He isn’t such a much. It’s that chum of his I want to know, that young Mr. Wilder with the funny name. 

You’ll see,” she smiled to herself, “I’m going riding behind those horses of his.”

Yes, she surely would, Laura thought. Nellie had been so friendly with Miss Wilder, it was    a wonder that Miss Wilder’s brother had not invited her for a drive before now. As for herself, Laura knew she had spoiled any chance of such a pleasure.

Mary Power’s name cards were finished the next week, and she brought them to school. They were beautiful. The cards were palest green, and on each was a picture of a bobolink swaying and singing on a spray of goldenrod. Beneath it was printed in black letters, MARY POWER. She gave one to Minnie, one to Ida and one to Laura, though they had none to give her.

That same day, Nellie brought hers to school. They were pale yellow, with a bouquet of pansies and a scroll that said, “For Thoughts.” Her name was printed in letters like handwriting. She traded one of her cards for one of Mary’s.

Next day, Minnie said she was going to buy some. Her father had given her the money, and she would order them after school if the other girls would come with her. Ida could not go. She said cheerfully, “I ought not to waste time. Be- cause I’m an adopted child, you see, I have to hurry home to help with the housework as much as I can. I couldn’t ask for name cards. Father Brown is a preacher and such things are a vanity. So, I’ll just enjoy looking at yours when you get them, Minnie.”

“Isn’t she a dear?” Mary Power said after Ida had left them. No one could help loving Ida. Laura wished to be like her, but she wasn’t. Secretly she so wanted name cards that she al- most felt envious of Mary Power and Minnie.

In the newspaper office Mr. Hopp in his ink- spotted apron spread the sample cards on the counter for them to see. Each card was more beautiful than the last. And Laura was mean enough to be pleased that Nellie’s was among them; it proved that she had bought her cards there.

They were every pale, lovely color, some even had gilt edges. There was a choice of six different bouquets, and one had a bird’s nest nestled among the flowers, two birds on its rim, and above them the word Love.

“That’s a young man’s card,” Mr. Hopp told them. “Only a young fellow’s brash enough to hand out a card with ‘Love’ on it.”

“Of course,” Minnie murmured, flushing.

It was so hard to choose among them that finally Mr. Hopp said, “Well, take your time. I’ll go on getting out the paper.”

He went back to inking the type and laying sheets of paper on it. He had lighted the lamp be- fore Minnie finally decided to take the pale blue card. Then guiltily, because they were so late, they all hurried home.

Pa was washing his hands and Ma was put- ting supper on the table when Laura came in, breathless. Quietly Ma asked, “Where have you been, Laura?”

“I’m sorry, Ma. I only meant to take a minute,” Laura apologized. She told them about name cards. Of course, she did not say that she wanted some. Pa remarked that Jake was up-and- coming, bringing out such novelties.

“How much do they cost?” he asked, and Laura answered that the cheapest cost twenty- five cents a dozen.

It was almost bedtime, and Laura was staring at the wall, thinking about the War of 1812, when Pa folded his paper, laid it down, and said, “Laura.”

“Yes, Pa?”

“You want some of these new-fangled name cards, don’t you?” Pa asked.

“I was just thinking the same thing, Charles,” said Ma.

“Well, yes, I do want them,” Laura admitted. “But I don’t need them.”

Pa’s eyes smiled twinkling at her as he took from his pocket some coins and counted out two dimes and a nickel. “I guess you can have them, Half-Pint,” he said. “Here you are.”

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 or- der 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 de- light 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 of- ten 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 ex- change 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.

“Thank you for the ride,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” he answered. His hair was not black, as she had thought. It was dark brown, and his eyes were such a dark blue that they did not look pale in his darkly tanned face. He had a steady, dependable, yet light-hearted look.

“Hullo, Wilder!” Cap Garland greeted him and he waved in answer as he drove away. Mr. Clewett was ringing the bell, and the boys were trooping in.

As Laura slipped into her seat, there was barely time for Ida to squeeze her arm delightedly and whisper, “Oh, I wish you could have seen her face! when you came driving up!”

Mary Power and Minnie were beaming at Laura across the aisle, but Nellie was looking intently away from her. 

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