FOREWORD These stories are founded on memories of my childhood on the farm. They first took definite form in response to the requests of my own little boys: "Tell me about when you were little, Mama." Some of them were demanded over and over again; but it remained for Bobby, the youngest, to insist that they be "put into a book." Many a time, after listening to one of them, he would say: "I wish you would write your stories, Mama, so that other... more...

One cold morning in March, Bobby Hill was wakened by a sound he had not heard since last Fall, "Chirp, chirp, cheer-up." "That sounds just like a robin," he thought. He sat up in bed and looked out of the window. It was a cold, dark, stormy morning. Heavy clouds covered the sky. The North wind was blowing the snow hither and thither. Bobby leaned nearer the window so he could see the ground. There was the snow like a blanket of white over the... more...