A President is Born by Fannie Hurst

The distance from the House on Sycamore Street to Rebekka's farm could be cut considerably if you went around by the creek and stepping-stoned it in the autumn or waded it in spring. That was David's invariable way, although in spring, pants were sure to get soaked, along their edges, even if he crammed them halfway up along his upper leg.

Rebekka always kept an extra pair of trousers hanging in a closet under the stairs. Knee ones, long since outgrown by Stevey.