When You Were a Boy

by Edwin L. Sabin

“Shouldn’t wonder if we had a foot or more, by night,” continued father.

You heard him rapturously. Father knew—but it seemed almost too good!

Fourteen buckwheat cakes were all that you could allow yourself, this morning. The snow needed you; and grabbing cap and scarf and mittens, with a battle-cry of defiance and joy you rushed, by the back door, into the furious vortex. The crackling stove, the cheery carpet, the warm, balmy, comfortable atmosphere of indoors appealed not to you.

First, exultantly you dragged forth for a preliminary canter your faithful sled, long since extricated from summer quarters and held in readiness for action. The snow proved satisfactory.

“Ain’t this dandy!” you shouted through the driving flakes, across from chores in your back yard to Hen at chores in his back yard.

“‘AIN’T THIS DANDY’”

“You bet you!” agreed Hen.

So it was, for boys; and Madam Nature, hovering anxiously near, knew that her efforts were appreciated.

“Won’t the hill be bully, tho’!” you jubilated.