was not deep enough, so he began boring again,
but he bored too far, for the auger went clear through the tree and
penetrated the back of his wife's uncle, who was leaning up against
the trunk trying to light his pipe. He jumped nearly forty feet, and
they had to mend him up with court-plaster.

[Illustration: TOO MUCH OF A BORE.]

Then he said he thought the reason the sap didn't come was that there
ought to be a kind of spigot in the hole, so as to let it run off
easily. They got the wooden spigot from the vinegar-barrel in the
cellar and inserted it. Then, as the sap did not come, Butterwick's
wife's uncle said he thought the spigot must be jammed in so tight
that it choked the flow; and while Butterwick tried to push it out,
his wife's uncle fed the fire with some kindling-wood. As the spigot
could not be budged with a hammer, Butterwick concluded to bore it out
with the auger; and meanwhile his wife's uncle stirred the fire. Then,
the auger broke off short in the hole, and Butterwick had to go half a
mile to the hardware-store to get another one.

Then Butterwick bored a fresh hole; and although the sap would not
come, the company did; and they examined with much interest the
kettle, which was now red-hot, and which Butterwick's wife's uncle
was trying to lift off the fire with the hay-fork. As the sap still
refused to come, Butterwick went over for Keyser to ask him how to
make the exasperating tree disgorge. When he arrived, he looked at the
hole, then at the spigot, then at the kettle and then at the tree.
Then, turning to Butterwick with a mournful face, he said,

"Butterwick, you have had a good deal of trouble in your life, an'
it's done you good; it's made a man of you. This world is full of
sorrow, but we must bear it without grumbling. You know that, of
course. Consequently, now that I've some bad news to break to you, I
feel 'sif the shock won't knock you endways, but'll be received with
patient resignation. I say I hope you won't break down an' give away
to your feelin's when I tell you that there tree is no sugar-maple
at all. Grashus! why, that's a black hickory. It is, indeed; and you
might as well bore for maple-sugar in the side of a telegraph-pole."

Then the company went home, and Butterwick's wife's uncle said he had
an engagement with a man in Hatboro' which he must keep right off.
Butterwick took the kettle up to the house; but as it was burned out,
he sold it next day for fifteen cents f