“Yes, but I didn’t quite kill it,” he answered, as he wiped the blood from his nose. The flock of geese went on unharmed to join their kindred at the lake.
It was going to be an open winter; the geese knew there was no hurry to go south. The small field was soon plowed and the hurry of work was over.
In November, the snow came and covered the ground, making good sleighing. Manly and Laura, well bundled up and covered with robes, went often for sleigh rides on sunny afternoons. Because Laura felt so much better outdoors, Manly made a handsled and a breast-collar-harness for Old Shep. On pleasant days Laura hitched Shep to the handsled and let him pull her on it down the hill to the road. Then together they would climb the hill, Shep pulling the sled and Laura walking beside him to take another ride down until she was tired from the walking and the fun. Shep never got tired of it, and at times when the sled tipped against a drift and Laura rolled into the snow he seemed actually to laugh.
And so November passed and December came.
The sun was shining on the morning of the fifth of December, but it looked stormy in the north.
“Better play outdoors all you can today, for it may be too stormy tomorrow,” Manly said. So, soon after breakfast Laura hitched Shep to the sled and took the day’s first ride down the hill. But she stayed out only a little while.
“I don’t feel like playing,” she told Manly when he came up from the barn. “I would rather curl up by the stove.” And again after the dinner work was done she sat idly by the stove in her little rocking chair, which worried Manly. Along in the afternoon Manly went to the barn and came back with the horses hitched to the sleigh.
“I’m going for your Ma,” he said. “Keep as quiet as you can until we come.” It was snowing hard now as from the window Laura watched him drive down the road with the team trotting their best. She thought that the pace would have won them the prize at the Fourth of July races. Then she walked the floor or sat by the stove until Manly came back with her Ma.
“My goodness,” Ma exclaimed, as she warmed herself by the fire. “You should not be up. I’ll get you to bed right away.” And Laura answered, “I’ll have a long time to stay in bed. I am going to stay up now as long as I can.”
But soon she made no objections and only vaguely knew when Manly drove away again to fetch a friend of her Ma’s from town. Mrs. Power was a friendly, jolly Irish woman. The first Laura knew of her being there was hearing her say, “Sure she’ll be all right, for it’s young she is. Nineteen you say; the very age of my Mary. But we’d better have the doctor out now, I’m thinking.” When Laura could again see and know what went on around her, Ma and Mrs. Power were standing one on each side of her bed. And was that Manly at the foot? No! Manly had gone for the doctor. Then were there two Mas and two Mrs. Powers? They seemed to be all around her.
What was that old hymn Pa used to sing?
…angel bank
Come and around me stand,
Oh, bear me away on your snowy wings to—
She was being borne away on a wave of pain. A gust of cold,
fresh air brought her back and she saw a tall man drop his snowy overcoat by the door and come toward her in the lamplight. She vaguely felt a cloth touch her face and smelled a keen odor. Then she drifted away into a blessed darkness where there was no pain. When Laura opened her eyes, the lamp was still shining brightly over the room, and Ma was bending over her with the doctor standing beside her. And in the bed by her side was a little warm bundle.
“See your little daughter, Laura! A beautiful baby, and she weighs just eight pounds,” Ma said.
“It’s a fine girl you are yourself,” Mrs. Power said from where she was sitting by the fire. “A fine, brave girl, and baby’ll be good because of it. You’ll be all right now.”
So Manly took the doctor and Mrs. Power home, but Ma stayed, and Laura went to sleep at once with her hand resting gently on little Rose. Rose was such a good baby, so strong and healthy that Ma stayed only a few days. Then Hattie Johnson came. “To wash baby this time, instead of windows,” she said. But soon Hattie went and the three, Manly, Laura, and Rose, were left by themselves in the little house atop the low hill with the sweep of the empty prairie all around it.
There was not a house near enough for neighbors, but a mile away across the slough a few buildings on the edge of town were in sight. A hundred precious dollars had gone for doctor bills and medicine and help through the summer and winter so far; but after all, a Rose in December was much rarer than a rose in June, and must be paid for accordingly.
Christmas was at hand and Rose was a grand present. Then the day before Christmas Manly hauled a load of hay to town and brought back the most beautiful clock. It stood nearly two feet high from its solid walnut base to the carved leaf at its very top. The glass door that covered the face was wreathed with a gilt vine on which four gilt birds fluttered, and the pendulum that swung to and fro behind them was the color of gold too. The clock had such a pleasant, cheerful voice as it said tick, tock, and when it struck the hours its tone was clear and sweet. Laura loved it at once.
The old round, nickel alarm clock could not be depended on to tell the right time, but still it would have answered the need, and Laura said doubtfully, “But ought you—” Then Manly told her he had traded the load of hay for it, and it would be a Christmas present for all three of them. The hay he had kept for feed was holding out so well that there would be more than enough to take the stock through the rest of the winter, and he couldn’t have sold the load of hay for money because they were not shipping anymore. Christmas was a happy time even though it was a stormy day, and they stayed quietly at home.
After the Christmas storm the weather was clear and sunny but cold—twenty-five and thirty below zero on some days.
But one day seemed unusually warm and Laura had been at home so long, she wanted to go for a sleigh ride to see Ma and Pa. Could they take the baby out safely?
They were sure they could. Some blankets were put to warming by the stove. Manly drove the cutter close to the door and made a little warm nest of them in the shelter of the dashboard. Rose was wrapped in her own warm blankets and little red cloak and hood, with a thin blue silk handkerchief lightly covering her face, and tucked tightly in among the blankets in the cutter. Then away they went, the horses stepping quickly and the sleigh bells singing merrily Several times Laura put her hand in among the blankets and touched Rose’s face to be sure that she was warm and that there was air beneath the veil.
It seemed only a few minutes until they drove up to the old homeplace and went quickly into the house, where Ma and Pa both scolded them well.
“You’re crazy!” Pa said. “Out with that baby when it is fifteen below.” And so it was by the thermometer. “She might have smothered,” Ma added.
“But I watched. She couldn’t have,” Laura answered. And Rose waggled her fingers and cooed. She was warm and happy and had had a good nap. Laura had never thought it might be dangerous to take the baby out, and she was anxious on the way home and glad when they were safely there. It seemed there was a good deal to taking care of babies.
There were no more sleigh rides for some time, and then one day that was really warm they drove the four miles to see their good friends, the Boasts.
Mr. and Mrs. Boast lived by themselves on their farm. They had no children and could hardly make fuss enough over Rose.