THE AMERICAN ROBIN 



THE enow had piled deeper, the winds howled more 

 fiercely and the ice on the rivers was deeper than in 

 any year within the memory of the oldest settlers. The 

 fences everywhere were buried beneath piles of glistening 

 white, and to one who did not know better the whole coun- 

 try appeared to be one great field. The crust on the snow 

 was eo hard that men drove with team and sleigh anywhere 

 they chose to go over fences and creeks without the least 

 fear. 



Father had bought some timber far down on the Skunk 

 River bottom. One day he decided there would never be 

 a better opportunity to get this wood than while he could 

 load it on a bobsled and bring it home directly across the 

 fields, thereby saving two or three miles. Accordingly, the 

 axes were ground, the crosscut saw filed, and early the next 

 morning the team was hitched to the bobsled, my two 

 brothers and I were tucked in, and we all started for the 

 timber. I was still a child, and my part of the job con- 

 sisted in piling brush and playing about watching for 

 squirrels. The day was bright and turned out to be warmer 

 than usual. The bobsled was left several rods from where 

 we were cutting timber, so that there would be no danger 

 of trees falling on it. The horses were tied to the sled and 

 plenty of hay and grain heaped in it for them. 



