Harper Audio presents Little House
on the Prairie written by
Laura Ingalls Wilder and
performed by Cherry Jones.
[MUSIC]
Going west.
A long time ago when all the grandfathers
and grandmothers of today were little
boys and little girls, or very small
babies, or perhaps not even born.
Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura and
baby Carrie left their little house
in the big woods of Wisconsin.
They drove away and left it lonely and
empty in the clearing among the big trees,
and they never saw that
little house again.
They were going to the Indian country.
Pa said there were too many
people in the big woods now.
Quite often Laura heard the ringing
thud of an axe which was not Pa's axe.
Or the echo of a shot that
did not come from his gun.
The path that went by the little
house had become a road.
Almost every day, Laura and
Mary stopped their playing and
stared in surprise at a wagon
slowly creaking by on that road.
Wild animals would not stay in a country
where there were so many people.
Pa did not like to stay either.
He liked a country where the wild
animals lived without being afraid.
He liked to see the little fawns and
their mothers looking at
him from the shadowy woods.
And the fat lazy bears eating
berries in the wild berry patches.
In the long winter evenings,
he talked to Ma about the western country.
In the West, the land was level and
there were no trees.
The grass grew thick and high.
There the wild animals wandered and
fed as though they were in a pasture that
stretched much further
than a man could see.
And there were no settlers,
only Indians lived there.
One day in the very last of the winter,
Pa said to Ma.
Seeing you don't object,
I've decided to go see the West.
I've had an offer for this place,
and we can sell it now for
as much as we're ever likely to get.
Enough to give us a start
in a new country.
Charles, must we go now?
Ma said.
The weather was so cold and
the snug house was so comfortable.
If we're going this year we must go now.
Said Pa.
We can't get across the Mississippi
after the ice breaks.
So Pa sold the little house.
He sold the cow and calf.
He made hickory bows and
fastened them up right to the wagon box.
Ma helped him stretch
white canvas over them.
In the thin dark before morning, Ma gently
shook Mary and Laura til they got up.
In firelight and candlelight she washed
and combed them and dressed them warmly.
Over their long red flannel underwear,
she put wool petticoats,
and wool dresses, and long wool stockings.
She put their coats on them, and
their rabbit skin hoods,
and their red yarn mittens.
Everything from the little house was in
the wagon except the beds and tables and
chairs.
They did not need to take these
because Pa could always make new ones.
There was thin snow on the ground,
the air was still and cold and dark.
The bare trees stood up
against the frosty stars.
But in the east, the sky was pale.
And through the gray woods came
lanterns with wagons and horses,
bringing Grandpa and Grandma,
and aunts and uncles and cousins.
Mary and Laura clung tight to their
rag dolls and did not say anything.
The cousin stood around and
looked at them.
Grandma and all the aunts hugged and
kissed them and hugged and
kissed them again saying goodbye.
Pa hung his gun to the wagon
bows inside the canvas top,
where he could reach it
quickly from the seat.
He hung his bullet pouch and
powder horn beneath it.
He laid the fiddle box carefully between
pillows where jolting would not hurt
the fiddle.
The uncles helped him hitch
the horses to the wagon.
All the cousins were told to kiss Mary and
Laura so they did.
Pa picked up Mary, and then Laura and set
them on the bed in the back of the wagon.
He helped Ma climb up to the wagon seat,
and
grandma reached up and
gave her baby Carrie.
Pa swung up and sat beside Ma.
And Jack,
the brindle Bulldog went under the wagon.
So they all went away from
the little log house.
The shutters were over the windows so
the little house could not see them go.
It stayed there inside the log
fence behind the two big oak trees,
that in the summertime, had made green
roofs for Mary and Laura to play under.
And that was the last of the little house.
Pa promised that when they came to
the west, Laura should see a papoose.
What is a papoose?
She asked him.
And he said,
a papoose is a little brown Indian baby.
They drove a long way through the snowy
woods til they came to the town of Pepin.
Mary and Laura had seen it once before,
but it looked different now.
The door of the store and
the doors of all the houses were shut.
The stumps were covered with snow and
no little children were playing outdoors.
Big cords of woods stood among the stumps.
Only two or three men in boots,
and fur caps, and
bright plaid coats were to be seen.
Ma and Laura and Mary ate bread and
molasses in the wagon,
and the horses ate corn from nose bags.
While inside the store, Pa traded his furs
for things they would need on the journey.
They could not stay long in the town
because they must cross the lake that day.
The enormous lake stretched flat and
smooth and
white all the way to
the edge of the gray sky.
Wagon tracks went away across it, so
far that could not see where they went.
They ended in nothing at all.
Pa drove the wagon out onto the ice,
following those wagon tracks.
The horses hooves clopped,
clopped with a dull sound.
The wagon wheels went crunching.
The town grew smaller, and smaller behind,
til even the tall store was only a dot.
All around the wagon there was nothing but
empty and silent space.
Laura didn't like it.
But Pa was on the wagon seat,
and Jack was under the wagon.
She knew that nothing could hurt
her while Pa and Jack were there.
At last the wagon was pulling
up a slope of Earth again,
and again there were trees.
There was a little log house too,
among the trees.
So Laura felt better.
Nobody lived in the little house.
It was a place to camp in.
It was a tiny house, and
strange with a big fireplace and
rough bunks against all the walls.
But it was warm when Pa had
built a fire in the fireplace.
That night, Mary and Laura and
baby Carrie slept with Ma in a bed
made on the floor before the fire.
While Pa slept outside in the wagon
to guard it and the horses.
In the night,
a strange noise wakened Laura.
It sounded like a shot, but
it was sharper and longer than a shot.
Again and again she heard it.
Mary and Carrie were asleep.
But Laura couldn't sleep until Ma's
voice came softly through the dark.
Go to sleep, Laura, Ma said.
It's only the ice cracking.
Next morning Pa said,
it's lucky we crossed yesterday Caroline.
Wouldn't wonder if the ice broke up today.
We made a late crossing,
we're lucky it didn't start breaking up
while we were out in the middle of it.
I thought about that yesterday Charles,
Ma replied gently.
Laura hadn't thought about it before.
But now she thought what would have
happened if the ice had cracked under
the wagon wheels, and
they had all gone down into the cold
water in the middle of that vast lake.
You're frightening somebody,
Charles, Ma said.
And Pa caught Laura up in a safe big hug.
We're across the Mississippi,
he said, hugging her joyously.
How do you like that?
Little half pint of sweet side or
half drunk up.
Do you like going out West
where the Indians live?
Laura said she liked it.
And she asked if they were
in the Indian country now.
But they were not.
They were in Minnesota.
It was a long,
long way to Indian territory.
Almost every day,
the horses traveled as far as they could.
Almost every night, Pa and
Ma made camp in a new place.
Sometimes they had to stay several days in
one camp because a creek was in flood and
they couldn't cross it
till the water went down.
They crossed too many creeks to count.
They saw strange woods and hills and
stranger country with no trees.
They drove across rivers
on long wooden bridges,
and they came to one wide yellow
river that had no bridge.
That was the Missouri River.
Pa drove onto a raft, and
they all sat still in the wagon while
the raft went swaying
away from the safe land.
And slowly crossed all that
rolling muddy yellow water.
After more days, they came to hills again.
In a valley,
the wagon stuck fast in deep black mud.
Rain poured down and
thunder crashed and lightning flared.
There was no place to make camp and
build a fire.
Everything was damp and chill and
miserable in the wagon.
But they had to stay in it,
and eat cold bits of food.
Next day Pa found a place on
a hillside where they could camp.
The rain had stopped, but
they had to wait a week before
the creek went down and the mud dried.
So that Pa could dig the wagon
wheels out of it and go on.
One day while they were waiting,
a tall lean man came out of
the woods riding a black pony.
He and Pa talked a while.
Then they went off into the woods
together, and when they came back,
both of them were riding black ponies.
Pa had traded the tired brown horses for
those ponies.
They were beautiful little horses.
And Pa said they were not really ponies,
they were Western mustangs.
They're as strong as mules and
gentle as kittens, Pa said.
They had large soft, gentle eyes,
and long mains and tails.
And slender legs, and
feet much smaller and
quicker than the feet of
horses in the big woods.
When Laura asked what their names were,
Pa said that she and Mary could name them.
So Mary named one Pat, and
Laura named the other Patty.
When the creeks roar was not so loud, and
the road was drier,
Pa dug the wagon out of the mud.
He hitched Pat and Patty to it,
and they all went on together.
They had come in the covered wagon
all the long way from the big
woods of Wisconsin,
across Minnesota and Iowa and Missouri.
All that long way,
Jack had trotted under the wagon.
Now they set out to go across Kansas.
Kansas was an endless flat land covered
with tall grass blowing in the wind.
Day after day they traveled in Kansas and
saw nothing but
the rippling grass and the enormous sky.
In a perfect circle,
the sky curved down to the level land and
the wagon was in the circles exact middle.
All day long, Pat and Patty went forward,
trotting and walking, and
trotting again, but they couldn't get
out of the middle of that circle.
When the sun went down the circle
was still all around them.
And the edge of the sky was pink.
Then slowly the land became black.
The wind made a lonely sound in the grass.
The campfire was small and
lost in so much space.
But large stars hung from
the sky glittering so
near, that Laura felt she
could almost touch them.
Next day, the land was the same.
The sky was the same.
The circle did not change.
Laura and Mary were tired of them all.
There was nothing new to do.
And nothing new to look at.
The bed was made in the back of the wagon
and neatly covered with a gray blanket.
Laura and Mary sat on it.
The canvas sides of the wagon
top were rolled up and tied, so
the prairie wind blew in.
It whipped Laura's straight brown hair and
Mary's golden curls ever which way.
And the strong light
screwed up their eyelids.
Sometimes a big jack rabbit bounded in
big bounds away over the blowing grass.
Jack paid no attention.
Poor Jack was tired too, and
his paws were sore from traveling so far.
The wagon kept on jolting.
The canvas top snapped in the wind.
Two faint wheel tracks kept going away
behind the wagon always the same.
Pa's back was hunched,
the reins were loose in his hands.
The wind blew his long brown beard.
Ma sat straight and quiet.
Her hands folded in her lap.
Baby Carrie slept in a nest
among the soft bundles.
[SOUND] Mary yawned.
And Laura said, Ma, can't we get out and
run behind the wagon?
My legs are so tired.
No, Laura, Ma said.
Aren't we going to camp pretty soon?
Laura asked.
It seems such a long time since noon,
when they'd eaten their lunch sitting on
the clean grass and
the shade of the wagon.
Pa answered, not yet,
it's too early to camp now.
I want to camp now,
I'm so tired, Laura said.
Then Ma said, Laura.
That was all, but
it meant that Laura must not complain.
So she did not complain anymore out loud.
But she was still not a inside.
She sat and thought complaints to herself.
Her legs ached, and
the wind wouldn't stop blowing her hair.
The grass waved and the wagon jolted and
nothing else happened for a long time.
We're coming to a creek or river, Pa said.
Girls, can you see those trees ahead?
Laura stood up and
held to one of the wagon bows.
Far ahead she saw a low dark smudge.
That's trees, Pa said.
You can tell by the shape of the shadows.
In this country, trees mean water,
that's where we'll camp tonight.
