. Country life reader . When all were satisfied, the littlemother loosed her apron-strings, and then looked aboutin triumph—as much as to say: What would you do withyour tapping and your boiling, if it were not for me? In-deed ! But now I have set all things right; go on w^ithyour boring holes and carrying sap ! Then she went backto the house. Every night the syrup was taken in buckets to thehouse. There it was turned over to the little mother, whocleansed it and then boiled it down until it became you would have the sugar a beautiful white, you shouldcleanse it with a pint of milk, a
. Country life reader . When all were satisfied, the littlemother loosed her apron-strings, and then looked aboutin triumph—as much as to say: What would you do withyour tapping and your boiling, if it were not for me? In-deed ! But now I have set all things right; go on w^ithyour boring holes and carrying sap ! Then she went backto the house. Every night the syrup was taken in buckets to thehouse. There it was turned over to the little mother, whocleansed it and then boiled it down until it became you would have the sugar a beautiful white, you shouldcleanse it with a pint of milk, after breaking in a half-dozen eggs. Then you must swing your kettle over thehre and, as the boiling begins, the impurities will rise tothe surface, and you may skim them into a pan for thevinegar barrel. All sugar waste must go to the vinegar;that is, there must be no waste at all—this is householdeconomy. The scum is rising white, little mother. So it is; andnow, little ones, you shall have a saucerful, each one of. 332 COUNTRY LIFE READER you, and you shall be quiet. Half an hour of expert watch-fulness prevents the rich brown mass from boihng ounce of white scum is saved for making cookies—except, indeed, that which goes for making boys. Nowthe bubbles fill the great kettle, large and expressive; andthey can hardly be restrained from jumping over into thefire. The kettle is swung a Httle off the centre of the two minutes a spoonful is given to each boy tostir in a saucer. Yes, indeed, little mother, it ropes! Then the Httlemother Hfts it six inches, and, with exacting eye, poursit slowly into a pan of snow. No, it does not grain! No,it does not wax! But it does rope. Little threads ofsyrup fly off into the air as the substance falls from thespoon. Another three minutes, and It waxes, it waxes ! Thisis the golden period of sugaring off. The dehcious mass,as it falls upon snow and is stirred, forms a waxy substance,which, once tasted, will never be
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