you have mentioned it, I see that this was the one thing needed to make my
evening complete, or perhaps it's morning--I don't know."

We found the dining-room warm, and soon we were equipped in those curious
compromises of vesture that people adopt under such circumstances, and,
with lantern and umbrella, we fumbled our way out to the trees. The rain
was driving in sheets, and we plodded up the road in the yellow circle of
lantern-light wavering uncertainly over the puddles, while under our feet
the mud gave and sucked.

"It's diluted, sure enough," I said, as we emptied the pails. We crawled
slowly back, with our heavy milk-can full of sap-and-rain-water, and went
in.

The warm dining-room was pleasant to return to, and we sat down to cookies
and milk, feeling almost cozy.

"I've always wanted to know how it would be to go out in the middle of the
night this way," I remarked, "and now I know."

"Aren't you hateful!" said Janet.

"Not at all. Just appreciative. But now, if you haven't any _other_ plan,
we'll go back to bed."

It was half-past eight when we waked next morning. But there was nothing
to wake up for. The old house was filled with the rain-noises that only
such an old house knows. On the little windows the drops pricked sharply;
in the fireplace with the straight flue they fell, hissing, on the embers.
On the porch roofs the rain made a dull patter of sound; on the tin roof
of the "little attic" over the kitchen it beat with flat resonance. In the
big attic, when we went up to see if all was tight, it filled the place
with a multitudinous clamor; on the sides of the house it drove with a
fury that re-echoed dimly within doors.

Outside, everything was afloat. We visited the trees and viewed with
consternation the torrents of rain-water pouring into the pails. We tried
fastening pans over the spouts to protect them. The wind blew them merrily
down the road. It would have been easy enough to cover the pails, but how
to let the sap drip in and the rain drip out--that was the question.

"It seems as if there was a curse on the syrup this year," said Janet.

"The trouble is," I said, "I know just enough to have lost my hold on the
fool's Providence, and not enough really to take care of myself."

"Superstition!" said Janet.

"What do you call your idea of the curse?" I retorted. "Anyway, I have an
idea! Look, Janet! We'll just cut up these enamel-cloth table-covers here
by the sink and everywhere, an