More Jonathan Papers | Page 7

at.
But though the little drops thrilled me, I was not beyond setting a pail
underneath to catch them. And as Hiram went on boring, I followed
with my pails. Pails, did I say? Pails by courtesy. There were, indeed, a
few real pails--berry-pails, lard-pails, and water-pails--but for the most
part the sap fell into pitchers, or tin saucepans, stew-kettles of

aluminum or agate ware, blue and gray and white and mottled, or big
yellow earthenware bowls. It was a strange collection of receptacles
that lined the roadside when we had finished our progress. As I looked
along the row, I laughed, and even Hiram smiled.
But what next? Every utensil in the house was out there, sitting in the
road. There was nothing left but the wash-boiler. Now, I had heard tales
of amateur syrup-boilings, and I felt that the wash-boiler would not do.
Besides, I meant to work outdoors--no kitchen stove for me! I must
have a pan, a big, flat pan. I flew to the telephone, and called up the
village plumber, three miles away. Could he build me a pan? Oh, say,
two feet by three feet, and five inches high--yes, right away. Yes,
Hiram would call for it in the afternoon.
I felt better. And now for a fireplace! Oh, Jonathan! Why did you have
to be away! For Jonathan loves a stone and knows how to put stones
together, as witness the stone "Eyrie" and the stile in the lane. However,
there Jonathan wasn't. So I went out into the swampy orchard behind
the house and looked about--no lack of stones, at any rate. I began to
collect material, and Hiram, seeing my purpose, helped with the big
stones. Somehow my fireplace got made--two side walls, one end wall,
the other end left open for stoking. It was not as pretty as if Jonathan
had done it, but "'t was enough, 't would serve." I collected fire-wood,
and there I was, ready for my pan, and the afternoon was yet young,
and the sap was drip-drip-dripping from all the spouts. I could begin to
boil next day. I felt that I was being borne along on the providential
wave that so often floats the inexperienced to success.
That night I emptied all my vessels into the boiler and set them out
once more. A neighbor drove by and pulled up to comment
benevolently on my work.
"Will it run to-night?" I asked him.
"No--no--'t won't run to-night. Too cold. 'T won't run any to-night. You
can sleep all right."
This was pleasant to hear. There was a moon, to be sure, but it was

growing colder, and at the idea of crawling along that road in the
middle of the night even my enthusiasm shivered a little.
So I made my rounds at nine, in the white moonlight, and went to
sleep.
I was awakened the next morning to a consciousness of flooding
sunshine and Hiram's voice outside my window.
"Got anything I can empty sap into? I've got everything all filled up."
"Sap! Why, it isn't running yet, is it?"
"Pails were flowin' over when I came out."
"Flowing over! They said the sap wouldn't run last night."
"I guest there don't nobody know when sap'll run and when it won't,"
said Hiram peacefully, as he tramped off to the barn.
In a few minutes I was outdoors. Sure enough, Hiram had everything
full--old boilers, feed-pails, water-pails. But we found some
three-gallon milk-cans and used them. A farm is like a city. There are
always things enough in it for all purposes. It is only a question of
using its resources.
Then, in the clear April sunshine, I went out and surveyed the row of
maples. How they did drip! Some of them almost ran. I felt as if I had
turned on the faucets of the universe and didn't know how to turn them
off again.
However, there was my new pan. I set it over my oven walls and began
to pour in sap. Hiram helped me. He seemed to think he needed his
feed-pails. We poured in sap and we poured in sap. Never did I see
anything hold so much as that pan. Even Hiram was stirred out of his
usual calm to remark, "It beats all, how much that holds." Of course
Jonathan would have had its capacity all calculated the day before, but
my methods are empirical, and so I was surprised as well as pleased

when all my receptacles emptied themselves into its shallow breadths
and still there was a good inch to allow for boiling up. Yes,
Providence--my exclusive little fool's Providence--was with me. The
pan, and the oven, were a success, and when Jonathan came that night I
led him out with unconcealed pride and showed him