On The Pilgrim Way
One Sunday evening Pa’s fiddle was singing a Sunday tune and they were all singing heartily with it,
“When cheerful we meet in our pleasant home
And the song of joy is swelling,
Do we pause to think of the tears that flow
In sorrow’s lonely dwelling?
Let us lend a hand—”

Winter Days
The weather grew colder. Silver Lake was frozen. Snow fell, but always the wind blew the ice clean, drifting the snow into the tall grass of the sloughs and driving it into waves on the low shores.

Payday
Two weeks had gone by and now Pa worked every evening after supper in his little office at the back of the store. He was making out the time-checks.

The West Begins
Early next morning they were all in the wagon again. It had not been unloaded so everything was ready to go.
Nothing was left of the camp but Aunt Docia’s shanty. Over the worn-out grass and the dead spots where shanties had been, surveyors were measuring and driving stakes for a new town that would be built.

By the Shores of Silver Lake
Laura Ingalls Wilder
Unexpected Visitor
Laura was washing the dishes one morning when old Jack, lying in the sunshine on the doorstep, growled to tell her that someone was coming. She looked out, and saw a buggy crossing the gravelly ford of Plum Creek.