soon the fat steers took it up and began butt-
ing and horning each other. Clearly, the
affair had to be stopped. We all stood by and
watched admiringly while Fuchs rode into the
corral with a pitchfork and prodded the bulls
again and again, finally driving them apart.

The big storm of the winter began on my
eleventh birthday, the 20th of January. When
I went down to breakfast that morning, Jake
and Otto came in white as snow-men, beating
their hands and stamping their feet. They
began to laugh boisterously when they saw
me, calling: --

"You've got a birthday present this time,
Jim, and no mistake. They was a full-grown
blizzard ordered for you."

All day the storm went on. The snow did
not fall this time, it simply spilled out of
heaven, like thousands of feather-beds being
emptied. That afternoon the kitchen was a
carpenter-shop; the men brought in their tools
and made two great wooden shovels with long
handles. Neither grandmother nor I could go
out in the storm, so Jake fed the chickens and
brought in a pitiful contribution of eggs.

Next day our men had to shovel until noon
to reach the barn -- and the snow was still

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