One gayly-dressed
little sapsucker hammered a tree near by and scolded vigorously.
"Right you are!" said Mary. "It's a pity you're not big enough to
drive us from the woods, for into one kittle goes enough sap to
last you a lifetime."
The squirrels were sure it was an intrusion, and raced among the
branches overhead, barking loud defiance. At night the three rode
home on the sled, with the syrup jugs beside them, and Mary's
apron was filled with big green rolls of pungent woolly-dog moss.
Jimmy built the fires, Dannie fed the stock, and Mary cooked the
supper. When it was over, while the men warmed chilled feet and
fingers by the fire, Mary poured some syrup into a kettle, and
just as it "sugared off" she dipped streams of the amber
sweetness into cups of water. All of them ate it like big
children, and oh, but it was good! Two days more of the same work
ended sugar making, but for the next three days Dannie gathered
the rapidly diminishing sap for the vinegar barrel.
Then there were more hens ready to set, water must be poured
hourly into the ash hopper to start the flow of lye for soap
making, and the smoke house must be gotten ready to cure the hams
and pickled meats, so that they would keep during warm weather.
The bluebells were pushing through the sod in a race with the
Easter and star flowers.
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