spouts drained, and the seventy troughs slowly filled,
all that livelong day in the sunny air; until freezing night came down,
and the chilled sap shrank back, waiting for persuasive sunbeams to draw
its sweetness forth again. Zack came round with his team next afternoon,
emptied all the troughs into one big barrel on his sled, and further
emptied the barrel into the huge kettle and pot which were swung over a
fire near the shanty, and which he superintended with great devotion
for some time.

'I could not have believed that the trees could spare so much juice,'
observed Robert. 'Are they injured by it, Bunting?'

'I ha' known a single maple yield a matter o' fifty gallons, an' that
not so big a one neither,' was the reply. 'An' what's more, they grow
the better for the bleedin'. I guess you hadn't none of this sort o'
sugar to hum in England?'

'Not a grain: all cane sugar imported.'

'Wal, you Britishers must be everlastin' rich,' was Zack's reply. 'An'
I reckon you don't never barter, but pays hard cash down? I wish I'd
a good store somewhar in your country, Robert: I guess I'd turn a
profit.'

CHAPTER XXVII.

A BUSY BEE.

'We'd ha' best sugar off the whole lot _al_together,' Zack had said,
and being the only one of the makers who knew anything about the
manufacture, he was permitted to prescribe the procedure. The dark
amber-coloured molasses had stood and settled for some days in deep
wooden troughs, before his other avocations, of farmer and general
storekeeper at the 'Corner,' allowed him to come up to the Cedars and
give the finishing touch.

A breathless young Bunting--familiarly known as Ged, and the veriest
miniature of his father--burst into the shanty one day during dinner--a
usual visiting hour for members of his family.

'Well, Ged, what do you want?'

'Uncle Zack'll be here first thing in the mornin' to sugar the syrup,
and he says yo're to have a powerful lot o' logs ready chopped for the
fires,' was the message. 'I guess I thought I'd be late for dinner,'
the boy added, with a sort of chuckle, 'but I ain't;' and he winked
knowingly.

'Well,' observed Arthur, laughing, 'you Yankees beat all the world for
cool impudence.'

'I rayther guess we do, an' fur most things else teu,' was the lad's
reply, with his eyes fixed on the trencher of bear's meat which Andy
was serving up for him. 'Don't you be sparing of the pritters--I'm
rael hungry:' and with his national celerity, the viands