“I know, Ma, but think of having an organ,” said Laura. “And I think I can work for Miss Bell again, and earn some clothes. The trouble is that I haven’t got my school money yet.”
“You are certain to get it,” Pa said. “Are you sure you want to buy an organ with it?”
“Oh, yes!” Laura told him. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to have an organ, that Mary can play when she comes home.”
“Then that’s settled!” Pa said happily. “I’ll pay down the twenty-five, and those folks’ll trust me for the balance till you get it. By jinks! I feel like celebrating. Bring me my fiddle, Half-Pint, and we’ll have a little music without the organ.”
While they all sat in the soft spring twilight, Pa played and sang merrily:
“Here’s to the maiden of bashful sixteen,
Here’s to the woman of fifty,
Here’s to the flaunting extravagant queen,
And here’s to the housewife that’s thrifty!
Here’s to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
Now to the maid who has none, sir!
Here’s to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here’s to the nymph with but one, sir!”
His mood changed, and so did the fiddle’s. They sang,
“Oh, I went down south for to see my Sal,
Sing polly-wolly-doodle all the day!
My Sally was a spunky gal,
Sing polly-wolly-doodle all the day.
Farewell, farewell, farewell my fairy fay,
I’m off to Louisiana
For to see my Susy Anna,
Singing polly-wolly-doodle all the day!”
The dusk was deepening. The land flattened to blackness and in the clear air above it the large stars hung low, while the fiddle sang a wandering song of its own.
Then Pa said, “Here is one for you girls.” And softly he sang with the fiddle,
“Golden years are passing by,
Happy, happy golden years,
Passing on the wings of time,
These happy golden years.
Call them back as they go by,
Sweet their memories are,