They started yesterday, and as I
calculate it the mess ought to be pretty well along by now."
"Bully idea, David! What do you say, Van?" asked Bob. "Shall we
trail David or shall we go in and see the sugar made?"
"Sugar! Sugar! Me for the sugar!" Van cried.
"Sugar it is then!"
Into the sugar-house they went.
The small room was hot and steamy, and in the middle of it in a
zinc-lined tank the foaming sap was boiling furiously. Beside it
stood McMasters, Mr. Carlton's foreman, a thermometer in his hand.
"Good-morning, Mr. Bob," he said. "So you are coming to cast an eye
on the maple-sugar! Last week we made syrup and bottled it. Not a
bad day's work, eh?"
With no little pride he pointed to a row of neat bottles
symmetrically arranged on a shelf. "We'll seal them to-morrow or
next day and get the labels on, and then they will be ready to sell.
But to-day it's sugar, so we have to keep the sap at a higher
temperature."
As he spoke he paused to test the bubbling liquid in the kettle.
"If you lads want a treat take one of those wooden plates over there
and fill it with snow; I'll spoon some of this hot sap over it, and
you will have a feast for a king."
The boys needed no urging. They took the plates, hurried out, and
soon returned with them; over the heap of snow the foreman poured
several heaping spoonfuls of hot syrup which, to their surprise,
cooled in an incredibly short time and stiffened into a sticky mass
that looked like candy.
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