“There’ll be frost to-night, and we’ll get the biggest run in the morning,” was his encouraging remark, as he made ready to depart.

Mrs. Jones had been over to see my wife, and they promised to become good friends.  I set to work putting things in better shape, and bringing in a good pile of wood.  Merton soon appeared with a brimming pail.  A kettle was hung on the crane, but before the sap was placed over the fire all must taste it, just as it had been distilled by nature.  And all were quickly satisfied.  Even Mousie said it was “too watery,” and Winnie made a face as she exclaimed, “I declare, Merton, I believe you filled the pails from the brook!”

“Patience, youngsters; sap, as well as some other things, is better for boiling down.”

“Oh what a remarkable truth!” said my wife, who never lost a chance to give me a little dig.

I laughed, and then stood still in the middle of the floor, lost in thought.

“A brown study!  What theory have you struck now, Robert?”

“I was thinking how some women kept their husbands in love with them by being saucy.  It’s an odd way, and yet it seems effective.”

“It depends upon the kind of sauce, Robert,” she said with a knowing glance and a nod.

By the time it was dark, we had both the kettles boiling and bubbling over the fire, and fine music they made.  With Junior for guest, we enjoyed our supper, which consisted principally of baked apples and milk.

“‘Bubble, bubble,’ ‘Toil’ and no ’trouble’—­”

“Yet, worth speaking of,” said my wife; “but it must come, I suppose.”

“We won’t go half-way to meet it, Winifred.”

When the meal was over, Junior went out on the porch and returned with a mysterious sack.

“Butternuts!” he ejaculated.

Junior was winning his way truly, and in the children’s eyes was already a good genius, as his father was in mine.

“O papa!” was the general cry, “can’t we crack them on the hearth?”

“But you’ll singe your very eyebrows off,” I said.

“Mine’s so white ’twouldn’t matter,” said Junior; “nobody’d miss ’em.  Give me a hammer, and I’ll keep you goin’.”

And he did, on one of the stones of the hearth, with such a lively rat-tat-snap! that it seemed a regular rhythm.

“Cracked in my life well-nigh on to fifty bushel, I guess,” he explained, in answer to our wonder at his skill.

And so the evening passed, around the genial old fireplace; and before the children retired they smacked their lips over sirup sweet enough to satisfy them.

The following morning—­Saturday—­I vibrated between the sugar-camp and the barn and other out-buildings, giving, however, most of the time to the help of my wife in getting the house more to her mind, and in planning some work that would require a brief visit from a carpenter; for I felt that I must soon bestow nearly all my attention on the outdoor work.  I managed to keep Bobsey under my eye for the most part, and in the afternoon I left him for only a few moments at the sugar-bush while I carried up some sap.  A man called to see me on business, and I was detained.  Knowing the little fellow’s proneness to mischief, and forgetfulness of all commands, I at last hastened back with a half guilty and worried feeling.