fire, made of boards, one end of which rested in the ground, while the
other end was raised to rest on a pole extended between the boughs of
two overhanging trees; but the young people rarely cared to enter it.
It held the syrup tubs and such stores of food as were needed from day
to day, but it was small and low, and "out of doors" suited them better,
even at night when their work detained them.
Into the great maple trees, scattered over an area of many acres, small
scooped spouts of cedar were fastened, and out of a tiny cutting, made
by a common axe above it, the sap flowed over these into a primitive
bucket of cedar, or a still more primitive trough placed beneath. This
sap was carried from all parts of the place in pails sustained by a
rough wooden yoke placed on the shoulders of the carrier, and emptied
into great wooden sap-holders beside the kettles. This part of the
work, to be done well, and with the smallest amount of labour, had to be
done in the early morning, before the sun had melted the crust which the
night's frost had made on the snow. For even when the open fields were
bare, the snow still lingered in the hollows of the wood, and to carry
full pails safely, when one's feet were sinking into the mass made soft
by the sunshine, was a feat not to be accomplished easily.
This carrying of the sap and the cutting of the wood for fires, was the
hard part of the work; the boiling of the sap and all the rest of it was
considered by Davie and his brothers as only fun. When there was a
great run of sap, as usually happens several times in the season, the
boiling had to be carried on through the night, as well as during the
day, and when the weather was fine, this only made the fun the greater.
At such times Davie usually secured the companionship of a friend, and
the chances were the friend brought another friend or two with him; and
there were few things happening in Gershom or elsewhere that were not
freely discussed at such times.
Katie had less to do with sugar-making this year than ever she had
before, and was inclined to murmur a little because of it. But she was
less needed in the wood now, her grandmother said, when the other bairns
were growing able to help their brother, and Katie was needed in the
house. Early as it was, there were calves to be fed and milk to be
cared for, and this year it was understood that Katie was to be
responsible for all that was done in the dairy. There was plenty to do;
Katie's mother was not strong, and grannie confessed that she was
feeling herself not so young as she used to be, and Katie was the main
stay now.
And, besides, Katie was too nearly a grown woman now to play herself
with the bairns in the wood, grannie went on to say, and it was far
better for Davie to get Ben Holt or some other lad to help, when help
was needed, than to take his sister from her work at home to do work for
which she was not fit. Of course Katie assented, and yielded her own
pleasure, as she always did at any word of grannie's; but grannie
herself felt a little uncomfortable about it. For it was not her
thought that Katie should be kept, as a general thing, out of the wood,
but Davie's. Between indignation and amusement, she had had some
difficulty in keeping her countenance when the lad had spoken.
"I dinna need her, grannie, and she's better at home. Help! There's no
fear but I'll get help enough. Jim Miller will be over, and Moses
Green, and more besides, very likely, and I'm no' wanting Katie."
"You're well off for helpers, it seems, Davie, my lad. But as for
Katie's going--"
"Grannie, she's no' going. As for helpers, they may come and go, and
help or not help, as suits themselves. But the less they have to say
about our Katie in the town, the better. Helpers! Do you suppose,
grannie dear, that they all come to help me?"
His grandmother looked at him in amazement.
"I doubt, laddie, you hardly ken what you are saying."
"I ken fine, grannie. If they want to see Katie, they must come to the
house here, to my mother and you. I'm no' to have the responsibility."
"Davie, lad," said grannie solemnly, "if you kenned what you are saying,
you would deserve the tawse. Responsibility, indeed! A laddie like
you; and my bonnie simple-hearted Katie."
"I'm saying nothing about Katie, grannie. I'm speaking about other
folk. Jim to-day and Moses to-morrow, and maybe young Squire Holt--no
less, the next--with their compliments and their nonsense. And as for
Katie, she likes it well enough, or she might come to like it; she's but
a lassie after all."
"Oh, laddie, laddie!" was all his astonished grandmother could say.
"I'm no' needing her to-day," repeated Davie.
"Davy, you are to say nothing of all this to your sister. I wouldna for
much that she would hear the like of that from you."
"I thought it better to speak to you, grannie," said Davie with gravity.
Grannie would have liked to box his ears.
"Grannie, you needna be angry at me. I'm no saying that Katie is
heeding; but other folk call her bonnie Katie as well as you, and she's
almost a woman now, and it canna be helped."
"Whisht, Davie. Well, never mind; I'm no' angry. But say nothing to
Katie to put things in her head. A laddie like you." And grannie
laughed in spite of her indignation. But she kept her "bonnie Katie" at
home for the most part, unless there was some special reason for her
going with the rest.
There were many other visitors at the sugar-place--visitors whom even
Davie could not suspect of coming altogether for Katie's sake. Most
people who had a chance to do so, liked to go at least once into the
woods when the sugar-making was going on, and the Flemings' place was
not very far from the village, and lay high and dry and was easy of
access, so that few days passed without a visit from some one.
Sometimes they were visitors to mind and sometimes they were not, but
the laws of hospitality held good in the woods as in the house, and they
were welcomed civilly at least. Once or twice, when particular friends
of his came on sap-boiling days, Davie ventured on an impromptu
sugaring-off on his own responsibility. He made use of a small kettle
for the purpose, so that the important matter of boiling down the sap
need not be interfered with. He told himself that he was not disobeying
his grandfather, but he knew that probably it had never come into his
mind that such a thing would be attempted, and he did not enjoy it much,
though his visitors did. He acknowledged afterward to Katie, that never
in the course of his life had he "felt so mean" as he did on the last
occasion of the kind. The sugar was just coming to perfection, when the
eager barking of the dog proclaimed the approach of some one, and Davie
never doubted that it was his grandfather. It was all that he could do
to prevent himself from snatching the sugar from the fire and putting it
out of sight. He did not do it, however, and it was not his
grandfather. But Davie's feeling of discomfort stayed with him, though
he had no reason to suppose that any one of the party had noticed his
trouble.
But in this he was mistaken. The very last person to whom he would have
liked to betray himself had observed him. Mr Maxwell had only been a
few minutes at the camp, and was not one of those for whose
entertainment Davie had prepared. Of course he knew that whoever came
to the place on regular sugaring-off days, was made welcome to all that
could be enjoyed on the occasion, but even with his knowledge that the
Flemings were open-handed on all occasions, he did feel somewhat
surprised that such special pains should be taken for the entertainment
of chance comers. But it was the anxious look that came over Davie's
face that struck him painfully.
That Davie, whose character for straightforwardness and courage no one
doubted--his grandfather's right hand, the staff and stay of the whole
household--that Davie should be found turning aside, ever so little,
from what was open and right, hurt the minister greatly. He loved the
lad too well to forbear from reproof, or at least a caution, so he
stayed till the others had left the wood to say a word to him. This was
not his first visit to the camp, for Davie and he were friends, and Mr
Maxwell had proved his friendship in a way that the boy liked--by
lending him books, and by helping him to a right appreciation of their
contents. He had a book in his hand now, as he waited while Davie
filled the kettles and stirred the fire, and it troubled him to think
that he was going to prove his friendship this time in a way the boy
would not like so well. He did not know what to say, and had not
decided, when Davie, perhaps surprised at his unwonted silence, looked
up and met his eye.
"Davie, lad, was it your grandfather that you expected to see when
Collie barked a little while ago?"
Davie reddened and hung his head, and then looking up, said with a touch
of anger in his voice:
"You are thinking worse of me than I deserve, Mr Maxwell."
"Well, I shall be glad to be set right, Davie."
"You don't suppose my grandfather would grudge a few pounds of sugar in
such a year as this? Why, there has been no such season since I can
remember, at least we have never made so much."
"No, I did not suppose that. It would not be like him."
"And there was no time lost; I was helped rather than hindered. And
anybody would do the same in any sugar-place in the country, only--"
Davie hesitated.
"It was not the sugar I thought of, it was the look that came over your
face when you thought your grandfather was coming, that accused you.
You accused yourself, Davie."
After a moment's silence, Davie said:
"My grandfather is not just like other folks in all things, and there
were two or three here that he does not like--and he might have spoken
hastily--being taken by surprise, and--I didn't like the thought of it."
The hesitation was longer this time.
"The chances are, he would--have given me--a blowing up, and that is not
so pleasant before folks."
"Well," said the minister again.
"Well, he might have been uneasy at the sight of Hooker and Piatt, and
he might have thought I was not to be trusted. And then it would have
vexed grannie and them all. My grandfather is queer about some things--
I mean he is an old man, and has had trouble in his life, with more
ahead, if some folks get their way and so I would have been sorry to see
him just then."
"And, Davie, should all this make you less careful to do his will, or
more, both as to the spirit and the letter?"
"But, Mr Maxwell, it was not that I thought I was doing wrong, only I
hoped grandfather might not come; and even grannie has whiles to--to--
No, I won't say it. Grannie is as true as steel. And I was wrong to do
anything to encourage Hooker and Piatt to stay, and I am sorry."
"Davie," said the minister kindly and solemnly, "be always loyal in word
and deed, as I know you are in heart, to your grandparents. You are
everything to them. I know of no nobler work than you have been doing
all winter. I beg your pardon if I have been hard on you; but it hurt
me dreadfully to see that doubtful look on your face. I did not mean to
be hard."
Davie told all this to Katie a few nights afterward, as they were going
home through the fields together. But he did not tell her that he made
an errand round behind the camp lest Mr Maxwell should see the tears
that came rushing to his eyes; nor did he tell her anything that was
said after that.
Indeed, there was but a word or two about the Lord and Master, whose
claims to a loving loyalty are supreme, words which Davie never forgot,
and only alluded to long afterward, when he and Katie found it easier to
talk together about such things. And that the minister had not put
their friendship in jeopardy, Katie plainly saw.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
MR FLEMING'S TROUBLES.
A few days after the minister's talk with Davie, the squire and Miss
Elizabeth came to pay a visit at Ythan Brae. The squire's visits were
rare now, and his coming gave them all pleasure; and as the day was
fine, and the old man expressed a wish to go to the sugar-place, they
lost no time after dinner in setting out.
The squire and Mr Fleming went in Mr Holt's buggy, as far as it could
be taken, but Mrs Fleming went, with Miss Elizabeth and Katie, the near
way through the fields. It was an afternoon long to be remembered.
Katie could not tell which she liked best, the walk up the hill with
these two, or the walk home again with Davie when he told her of Mr
Maxwell's talk with him in the wood. It was pleasant sitting in the
sunshine too, and listening to the old squire, and grannie, and them
all, and if there had been nothing else to delight her, it would have
been enough to see Davie behave so well. For Davie did not think so
much of Miss Elizabeth's friendship as Katie did, and did not as a
general thing take so much pains as she thought he ought to do to be
polite to her friend. But to-day Davie, in his sister's opinion, was
kind and "nice" to them all. They heard the sharp ring of his axe as
they went up through the pasture, and when they came in among the trees
they heard him singing merrily to himself. He made much of grannie,
whose first visit it was for the season, and when he heard that his
grandfather and Mr Holt were coming by the road, he went off with great
strides, like a young giant, to meet them before they should reach a
certain hole in the wood road which was deeper than it looked, and where
possibly they might have to alight and leave the buggy. By and by he
came back with them, carrying the squire's great coat, which he had
found heavy in coming up the hill. Then with some boards and an old
buffalo-skin and quilt from the camp, he hastened to make comfortable
seats for them all.
"I think, grandfather," said he, "since the squire and Miss Elizabeth
have come so far--to say nothing of grannie--we should make it worth
their while. If Katie will wash out the little kettle, while I make a
place for it on the fire, we will have a sugaring-off in an hour or two.
If you had come to-morrow, Miss Elizabeth, you would have seen us
turning off a hundredweight and more."
"If there will be time for it," said Mr Fleming doubtfully.
"Plenty of time, grandfather. I will set it a-going, and Katie can
attend to it, for there are some buckets east yonder that I have not
seen to-day, and I must gather the sap and make an end of it to-night,
if I can."
"I think I might be trusted to set it a-going myself, Davie," said
Katie, laughing and turning up her sleeves.
Davie had made his morning porridge in the kettle, having been busy very
early in the woods, and there were traces of former sugar-making on it
also, but of this Katie said nothing. It was pretty to see her quick,
light movements, as she busied herself with the work. Even the washing
of a porridge pot may be done in a way to interest on-lookers, and
well-pleased eyes followed her movements.
A tub of syrup which was to form part of to-morrow's "batch" stood in
the camp, and from this a portion was carefully taken that the grounds
need not be disturbed, a beaten egg and a cup of sweet milk were added
for clarifying purposes, and it was placed on the fire. As it grew hot
a dark scum rose to the top, which Katie with her skimmer removed, and
by and by there was nothing to be done but to see that the clear,
amber-coloured liquid did not boil over. All the help that her brother
gave her was by way of advice, and of this she made as much use as
suited her, and Miss Elizabeth listened to them much amused.
But neither Miss Elizabeth nor Katie lost a word of the quiet talk that
was going on between the old people. The squire and Mrs Fleming had
most of it to themselves, Mr Fleming putting in a word now and then.
Their talk was mostly of old times. If the squire had heard anything
new of his friend's trouble as to his debt to Jacob he had forgotten it,
as he forgot most things happening from day to day now. It was of the
old times in Gershom, even before Mr Fleming's coming, that he was
speaking; most of what he said he had said to them often before. He
called Davie Hughie, and did not notice that Elizabeth looked anxious
and tried to change the talk.
Davie did his part in setting things right by bringing up the question
which Ben and he had been discussing lately, as to the salmon fishing on
the Beaver River, before the building of the saw-mills had kept the fish
away. Then Davie went to his sap-gathering, and after that the talk
fell upon graver matters; and though all took part, it was grannie who
had most to say, and Elizabeth liked to think afterward of the eager,
childlike way in which her father had listened and responded to it all.
He was very fond of telling of his early days, and of his success in
life, poor old man, but to-day he acknowledged that this life, if it
were all, would be but a poor thing.
"I might have done differently in some things, and I wish I had, though
I don't know that it would have amounted to much, anything that I could
do."
"And it is well that it is not our ain doings we have to trust to when
life is wearing over," said Mrs Fleming, gravely. "I doubt the best of
us would find but poor comfort in looking back over our life, when the
end is drawing on; it is to Him who is able and willing to save to the
uttermost that we have, one and all, to look."
"Yes, I know, there is no one else. And my life is most done, but I
haven't never confessed Him, not before men."
"But it's no' too late for that even yet," said Mrs Fleming, gently;
"and you _have_ confessed Him in a way, for you have fed the hungry and
clothed the naked, and all men trust your word, which, God forgive them,
is more than can be said of some who have His name oftenest on their
lips."
"Folks ought to get religion young, as Lizzie did here, and Jacob. I
hope it's all right with Jacob. I've seen the time when I would have
been glad to come forward and confess Him and do my part in the church,
before Lizzie's mother died. But when a man gets on in years it isn't
easy for him to come out before the world and do as he ought. I hope it
will be all right, and as I told Jacob the other day, when the time does
come for me to be judged I'd full as lief be standing on the same
platform with old David Fleming as with most any of the professors in
Gershom."
"Eh, man! It would be but a poor place to stand in," said Mr Fleming,
with a startled movement. Mrs Fleming looked from one to the other a
little startled also.
"It is just this," said she, quickly and softly. "Do we love Him best,
and honour Him most? No professing or doing will stand to us instead of
that, either now or afterwards. And it is our life rather than our lips
that should have the telling of our love. Though they should both
speak," added she, gravely.
"Ay! that should they," said her husband.
"And if we love Him best and honour Him, that is so far an evidence that
we are His, and we need fear no evil."
"I love Him; I know I love Him," said the squire gravely. "As to having
honoured Him before the world all these years--I have little to say
about that. And now my life is most gone--most gone--"
Davie came back for the last time with his full pails, and Miss
Elizabeth was glad that the talk should come to an end, for her father
was showing signs of weariness and weakness. There was a little
discussion about the propriety of boiling all the sap down to-night, so
that the morning's "batch" of sugar should be the larger. That was
Davie's plan, but his grandfather objected, and to Katie's intense
delight Davie yielded to his decision cheerfully enough. So he set to
work to build up the fires, that the process of boiling to syrup what
was now in the kettle might be hastened, for it must be taken from the
fire and strained and put safely into the camp before they went home.
Katie's sugar was by this time pronounced ready to be tested, and Davie
hastened to bring from some distant hollow a bucketful of the snow which
still lingered in shady places. Over this a spoonful or two of the
clear brown liquid from the kettle was spread, and as it stiffened, and
after a little became solid, it was pronounced to be sugar--though to
unaccustomed eyes it would have seemed only a brown syrup still. But by
the time it cooled it would be mostly solid sugar, and when the
remaining moist part should be drawn off, it would be maple sugar of the
very best, Squire Holt declared, and no one knew better than be.
It is not to be supposed that the old people had cared much to have the
sugar made for them, or that they tasted it very freely now that it was
done. But they had enjoyed seeing it made, and had had a pleasant
afternoon. They did not fall into much talk after this. It was nearly
sunset, and time for the squire to be at home. So he and Elizabeth did
not return to the house, but took the buggy at the point where it had
been left, and went straight to the village. Mr and Mrs Fleming went
home together over the fields, and Katie was left to help Davie with the
straining of the syrup, which was nearly ready now.
"We have had a pleasant afternoon," said Katie; "I only wish the
minister had been here, and Miss Betsey, and Mr Burnet. If we had
known we might have sent for them."
"It is better as it was. Grandfather liked it better," said Davie.
"The minister was here the other day."
"And you didna tell us!"
"Well--I'm telling you now." And in a little he had told the whole
story, shamefacedly, but quite honestly. Katie did not say that she
thought the minister had been hard on him--thought it for a while.
However, Davie did not think he had been hard, she could see, and no
harm was done.
In Katie's opinion Davie had been wonderfully good and thoughtful all
winter. He had very rarely laid himself open to his grandfather's
doubts or displeasure. But after this time there was a difference that
made itself apparent to eyes that were less watchful than Katie's.
"Loving loyalty," that was just the name for it. In great things and
small, after this, the lad laid himself out to please his grandfather.
He was captious with his sisters "whiles," she acknowledged in secret;
he was arbitrary with his little brothers when they neglected tasks of
his giving; and tried his mother and his grandmother, now and then, as
young lads always have, and always will try their mothers and
grandmothers, until old heads can be put on young shoulders.
But with his grandfather he was gentle, patient, and considerate, to a
degree that surprised even Katie, who had been gentle, patient, and
considerate with him all her life. She used to wonder whether her
grandfather noticed it. He never spoke of it, but he found fault less
frequently, and was less exacting as to times and seasons for work, and
as to the lad's comings and goings generally.
Mr Fleming had for a long time said little either of past troubles or
future fears, and it was on the past rather than the future that his
thoughts dwelt. The future looked dark enough in some of its aspects,
but it was by no means hopeless. Davie was more nearly right than Katie
was willing to believe, when he said that his grandfather, as well as a
good many others in Gershom, were waiting to see "what the Lord was
going to do about it," whether it was to be a case of "the righteous
never forsaken," or whether this time "the race was to be to the swift,
and the battle to the strong."
It may be said of the old man, that on the whole he waited hopefully,
or, rather, he looked forward without any special anxiety as to what
might be the result of his long controversy with his enemy. Nothing so
terrible could happen as had come to him in the past, when his boy had
gone down to a dishonoured grave, beyond the reach of hope. Nothing so
terrible could happen to the bairns. Every summer and winter passing
over their heads, made them more able to meet hardship, if hardship lay
before them. Of Katie he had long been sure, and of Davie he was
growing surer every day. The rest were healthy, wholesome bairns, with
no special gift of beauty or cleverness to lay them open to special
temptation. They would do well by their mother, and by one another, and
God would guide them, the old man said.
As for himself and his Katie, his dear old wife, their time was nearly
over, and they would soon be at peace. At peace! That was the way he
put it to himself always. He did not dwell at this time on all that has
been promised of the glory to be revealed. He never said that he shrank
from the thought of entering through the gates into the heavenly city,
out of which his boy must be shut. That would have been rebellion
against God, and he would not rebel.