It's Monday.
Pa told Laura that the country was cram-jammed with game and he had seen fifty deer and antelope, squirrels, rabbits, birds of all kinds. The creek was full of fish. He said to Ma that he had told her that there had been everything they want there and they could live like kings. That was a wonderful supper. They sat by the camp fire and ate the tender, savory, flavory meat till they could eat no more. When at last Laura set down her plate, she sighed with contentment. She didn’t want anything more in the world. The last color was fading from the enormous sky and all the level land was shadowy. The warmth of the fire was pleasant because the night wind was cool. Phoebe-birds called sadly from the woods down by the creek. For a little while a mockingbird sang, then the stars came out and the birds were still. Softly Pa’s fiddle sang in the starlight. Sometimes he sang a little and sometimes the fiddle sang alone. Sweet and thin and far away, the fiddle went on singing:
None knew thee but to love thee,
Thou dear one of my heart... was”
The large, bright stars hung down from the sky. Lower and lower they came, quivering with music. Laura gasped, and Ma came quickly. She asked what it was, and Laura whispered that the stars had been singing. Ma told Laura that she had been asleep and it was only the fiddle, and it was time little girls had been in bed. She undressed Laura in the firelight and put her nightgown on and tied her nightcap, and tucked her into bed. But the fiddle was still singing in the starlight. The night was full of music, and Laura was sure that part of it came from the great, bright stars swinging so low above the prairie.
