When the sled had made its round, the boys followed it to the shed where the sap was boiled down into sugar. Here they saw an enormous caldron with a roaring fire underneath. Into this caldron the sap was poured, and here its transformation began. A delicious odor arose that made the nostrils of the boys dilate hungrily.
Every little while, the man who was supervising the boiling drew out a huge ladleful to see how thick it was getting. At a certain stage he turned to the boys with a grin.
“Each one of you take one of those pans,” he directed, pointing to a bright row of dairy tins which the housewife had made ready. “Fill them up with snow and pack the snow down hard.”
In a twinkling the boys were ready. Then, as each held up his pan, the man poured a big ladle of the hot syrup on the snow. The rich golden brown against the whiteness of the snow would have delighted the soul of an artist. But these lads were not artists, only hungry boys, and their only concern was to get the sugar cool enough to eat.
Pee Wee in fact burned his lips and tongue by starting too soon, but he soon forgot a trifle like that, and in a moment more he and the others were eating as if they had never tasted anything so good in all their lives.
“Hot biscuits coming, boys,” smiled the farmer. “Better leave some room.”
“Let them come,” mumbled Mouser with his mouth full of sugar. “None of them will go away again.”
And they made good this prophecy when a little later they were called into the farmhouse, where a table was spread, heaped high with fluffy biscuits just from the oven. On these the boys spread butter and then piled them up with the delicious syrup. There were other things on the table too, pickles and pies and cakes, but to these the boys paid slight attention. They could have those any day, but to-day maple sugar was king.
When at length they were through, they all acknowledged to having eaten more than was good for them.
“We’ll have to use a derrick to get Pee Wee on his feet,” laughed Bobby.