“I’ll be very glad to come,” said Varley promptly.
Mrs. Grant was eyeing him shrewdly. “Shouldn’t wonder if we could show him some things,” said she. “He looks sort of citified, and we’re country—real country—out to Sugar Valley. But that reminds me—it’s ’most sugaring time now. ’Twill be, soon’s we get a spell of warm weather to start the sap running; and it’s my notion when winter breaks, it’ll break quick. Come now! Never seen ’em sugar-off, has he?”
Varley saved Sam the trouble of making answer. “Indeed I haven’t, but I’d like to.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Grant, addressing him directly, “I don’t know as we can show you the sap running, and the kettles boiling by Friday, but we can show you all the works. We’ve got quite a lot of bush and——”
“I beg your pardon! Bush?”
Mrs. Grant laughed. “That’s just a name for it—our name. You’d call it a grove, I guess. And there’s an old house where we keep the kettles—why, it’s quite an outfit, when you see it all. And I reckon you’ll find it mighty entertaining.”
“I’m sure I shall.”
“Then that settles it—Friday it is!” she said with decision, and turned again to Sam. “I tell you what! We’ll make a regular party. Suppose you bring along half a dozen of your chums—more, if you want to. Goodness knows, our old house is big enough to take you all in! And let’s see! You can come out right after school, and we’ll have dinner—it’ll be waiting for you. And I’ll get that mince pie off my conscience. Then Mr. Grant can take you down to the island—it isn’t an island, really, but that’s what we call it—and let you see the apparatus for making maple syrup and sugar.” She turned swiftly back to Varley. “You said it’d be all new to you, didn’t you?”
“Every bit of it.”
“Then I can count on you, too?”