It is a sort of work in which he can appear to be very active, and
yet not do much.
In my day maple-sugar-making used to be something between picnicking and
being shipwrecked on a fertile island, where one should save from the
wreck, tubs and augers, and great kettles and pork, and hen's-eggs and
rye-and-indian bread, and begin at once to lead the sweetest life in the
world.
I am told that it is something different nowadays, and that there is
more desire to save the sap, and make good, pure sugar, and sell it for
a large price.
I am told that it is the custom to carefully collect the sap and bring
it to the house, where there are built brick arches, over which it is
evaporated in shallow pans, and that pains are taken to keep the leaves,
sticks, ashes and coals out of it, and that the sugar is clarified.
In short, that it is a money-making business, in which there is very
little fun, and that the boy is not allowed to dip his paddle into the
kettle of boiling sugar and lick off the delicious syrup.
As I remember, the country boy used to be on the lookout in the spring
for the sap to begin running.
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