There were the big pans, turned upside down, and the pails that caught the sap.
Her mouth watered as she thought of all the maple sugar they had made in that little cabin. She wanted to stay longer, but Mr. Alder started on.
“We must get along, I want to see Mr. Brooks before we go home.”
“Who is Mr. Brooks?”
“Mr. Brooks is a good man who lives over here on the side of Bean Hill. He lives all alone by himself.”
“Oh,” replied Clematis, “is he the man who owns the white house with the vines, and has had so much sadness?”
“Yes. How did you know about him?”
“Mr. Ladd stopped near his house. He told me.”
The walk was a long one, and Clematis was glad when she saw the little cottage on the hillside.
“Here we are. There is Mr. Brooks now, working over his flowers.” Mr. Alder went over to the little garden, where a man with white hair was pulling out weeds.