"The State did not realize you were coming, old man; otherwise they
would have had some weather especially prepared for your benefit,"
Bob replied, springing into the sleigh beside his chum. "My, but
this is a jolly old pung! Hear it creak. I say," he leaned forward
to address the driver, "where did my father get this heirloom,
David?"
"Law, Mr. Bob, this ain't your father's," David drawled. "He ain't
got anything but wheeled vehicles in the barn, and not one of 'em
will be a mite of use till April. I borrowed this turnout of the
McMasters', who live a piece down the road; the foreman, you know.
It was either this or a straight sledge, and we happened to be using
the sledges collecting sap."
"Are you sugaring off already?" questioned Bob with evident
disappointment. "I understood Father to say we'd get here in time to
be in on that."
"Bless your soul, Mr. Bob, you'll see all you want of it," was
David's quick answer. "There's gallons of sap that hasn't been
boiled down yet. It's a great year for maple-sugar, a great year."
"Are some years better than others?" Van inquired.
"Yes, indeed. What you want to make the sap run is a good cold snap,
followed by a thaw. That's just what we've been having. It's a prime
combination."
He jerked the reins impatiently.
"Get up there, Admiral! He's the very worst horse to stop that ever
was made. You see in summer he drags a hay-cart, and he has to keep
halting for the hay to be piled on; then in the fall we use him for
working on the road, and he has to wait while we pick up stones and
spread gravel; in the spring he makes the rounds of the sugar
orchard every morning and stands round on three legs while we empty
the sap buckets into the cask on the sledge.
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