A BUSY BEE.
e'd ha' best sugar off the whole lot altogether,' 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 disappeared.
When the meal was ended, Robert, as always, returned thanks to God for His mercies, in a few reverent words. The boy stared.
'I guess I hain't never heerd the like of that 'afore,' he remarked. 'Sure, God ain't nowhar hereabouts?'