The Man from Glengarry: A Tale of the Ottawa

by Ralph Connor

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE SUGARING-OFF

  The sugar time is, in many ways, the best of all the year. It isthe time of crisp mornings, when "the crust bears," and the boys gocrunching over all the fields and through the woods; the time, too, ofsunny noons and chilly nights. Winter is still near, but he has lostmost of his grip, and all his terror. For the earth has heard the callof spring from afar, and knows that soon she will be seen, dancing hershy dances, in the sunny spaces of the leafless woods. Then, by and by,from all the open fields the snow is driven back into the fence corners,and lies there in soiled and sullen heaps. In the woods it still liesdeep; but there is everywhere the tinkle of running water, and it is notlong till the brown leaf carpet begins to show in patches through thewhite. Then, overhead, the buds begin to swell and thrill with the newlife, and when it is broad noon, all through the woods a thousand voicespass the glad word that winter's day is gone and that all living thingsare free. But when night draws up over the treetops, and the shadowssteal down the forest aisles, the jubilant voices die down and a chillfear creeps over all the gleeful, swelling buds that they have beentoo sure and too happy; and all the more if, from the northeast, theresweeps down, as often happens, a stinging storm of sleet and snow,winter's last savage slap. But what matters that? The very nextday, when the bright, warm rays trickle down through the interlacingbranches, bathing the buds and twigs and limbs and trunks and floodingall the woods, the world grows surer of its new joy. And so, inalternating hope and fear, the days and nights go by, till an eveningfalls when the air is languid and a soft rain comes up from the south,falling all night long over the buds and trees like warm, lovingfingers. Then the buds break for very joy, and timid green things pushup through the leaf-mold; and from the swamps the little frogs beginto pipe, at first in solo, but soon in exultant chorus, till the wholemoist night is vocal, and then every one knows that the sugar time isover, and troughs and spiles are gathered up, and with sap-barrels andkettles, are stored in the back shed for another year.

  But no rain came before the night fixed for the sugaring-off. It was aperfect sugar day, warm, bright, and still, following a night of sharpfrost. The long sunny afternoon was deepening into twilight when theCamerons drove up to the sugar-camp in their big sleigh, bringing withthem the manse party. Ranald and Don, with Aunt Kirsty, were there toreceive them. It was one of those rare evenings of the early Canadianspring. The bare woods were filled with the tangled rays of light fromthe setting sun. Here and there a hillside facing the east lay inshadow that grew black where the balsams and cedars stood in clumps. Buteverywhere else the light fell sweet and silent about the bare trunks,filling the long avenues under the arching maple limbs with a yellowhaze.

  In front of the shanty the kettles hung over the fire on a long polewhich stood in an upright crutch at either end. Under the big kettle thefire was roaring high, for the fresh sap needed much boiling before thesyrup and taffy could come. But under the little kettle the fire burnedlow, for that must not be hurried.

  Over the fire and the kettles Ranald presided, black, grimy, and silent,and to Don fell the duty of doing the honors of the camp; and rightworthily did he do his part. He greeted his mother with reverence,cuffed his young brother, kissed his little sister Jennie, tossing herhigh, and welcomed with warm heartiness Mrs. Murray and her niece. TheAirds had not yet come, but all the rest were there. The Finlaysons andthe McKerachers, Dan Campbell's boys, and their sister Betsy, whom everyone called "Betsy Dan," redheaded, freckled, and irrepressible; theMcGregors, and a dozen or more of the wildest youngsters that could befound in all the Indian Lands. Depositing their baskets in the shanty,for they had no thought of fasting, they crowded about the fire.

  "Attention!" cried Don, who had a "gift of the gab," as his mothersaid. "Ladies and gentlemen, the program for this evening is as follows:games, tea, and taffy, in the order mentioned. In the first, all MUSTtake part; in the second, all MAY take part; but in the third, none NEEDtake part."

  After the laughter and the chorus of "Ohs" had subsided, Don proceeded:"The captains for the evening are, Elizabeth Campbell, better knownas 'Betsy Dan,' and John Finlayson, familiar to us all as 'Johnnie theWidow,' two young people of excellent character, and I believe, slightlyknown to each other."

  Again a shout went up from the company, but Betsy Dan, who cared not atall for Don's banter, contented herself with pushing out her lower lipat him with scorn, in that indescribable manner natural to girls, but toboys impossible.

  Then the choosing began. Betsy Dan, claiming first choice by virtue ofher sex, immediately called out, "Ranald Macdonald."

  But Ranald shook his head. "I cannot leave the fire," he said, blushing;"take Don there."

  But Betsy demurred. "I don't want Don," she cried. "Come on, Ranald; thefire will do quite well." Betsy, as indeed did most of the school-girls,adored Ranald in her secret heart, though she scorned to show it.

  But Ranald still refused, till Don said, "It is too bad, Betsy, butyou'll have to take me."

  "Oh, come on, then!" laughed Betsy; "you will be better than nobody."

  Then it was Johnnie the Widow's choice: "Maimie St. Clair."

  Maimie hesitated and looked at her aunt, who said, "Yes, go, my dear, ifyou would like."

  "Marget Aird!" cried Betsy, spying Marget and her brothers coming downthe road. "Come along, Marget; you are on my side--on Don's side, Imean." At which poor Marget, a tall, fair girl, with sweet face and shymanner, blushed furiously, but, after greeting the minister's wife andthe rest of the older people, she took her place beside Don.

  The choosing went on till every one present was taken, not even AuntKirsty being allowed to remain neutral in the coming games. For an hourthe sports went on. Racing, jumping, bear, London bridge, crack thewhip, and lastly, forfeits.

  Meantime Ranald superintended the sap-boiling, keeping on the oppositeside of the fire from the ladies, and answering in monosyllables anyquestions addressed to him. But when it was time to make the tea, Mrs.Cameron and Kirsty insisted on taking charge of this, and Mrs. Murray,coming round to Ranald, said: "Now, Ranald, I came to learn all aboutsugar-making, and while the others are making tea, I want you to teachme how to make sugar."

  Ranald gladly agreed to show her all he knew. He had been feelingawkward and miserable in the noisy crowd, but especially in the presenceof Maimie. He had not forgotten the smile of amusement with whichshe had greeted him at the manse, and his wounded pride longed for anopportunity to pour upon her the vials of his contempt. But somehow,in her presence, contempt would not arise within him, and he was driveninto wretched silence and self-abasement. It was, therefore, withpeculiar gratitude that he turned to Mrs. Murray as to one who bothunderstood and trusted him.

  "I thank you for the books, Mrs. Murray," he began, in a low, hurriedvoice. "They are just wonderful. That Rob Roy and Ivanhoe, oh! they arethe grand books." His face was fairly blazing with enthusiasm. "I neverknew there were such books at all."

  "I am very glad you like them, Ranald," said Mrs. Murray, in tones ofwarm sympathy, "and I shall give you as many as you like."

  "I cannot thank you enough. I have not the words," said the boy, lookingas if he might fall down at her feet. Mrs. Murray was greatly touchedboth by his enthusiasm and his gratitude.

  "It is a great pleasure to me, Ranald, that you like them," she said,earnestly. "I want you to love good books and good men and noble deeds."

  Ranald stood listening in silence.

  "Then some day you will be a good and great man yourself," she added,"and you will do some noble work."

  The boy stood looking far away into the woods, his black eyes filledwith a mysterious fire. Suddenly he threw back his head and said, asif he had forgotten Mrs. Murray's presence, "Yes, some day I will be agreat man. I know it well."

  "And good," softly added Mrs. Murray.

  He turned and looked at her a moment as if in a dream. Then, recallinghimself, he answered, "I suppose that is the best."

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p; "Yes, it is the best, Ranald," she replied. "No man is great who is notgood. But come now and give me my lesson."

  Ranald stepped out into the bush, and from a tree near by he lifted atrough of sap and emptied it into the big kettle.

  "That's the first thing you do with the sap," he said.

  "How? Carry every trough to the kettle?"

  "Oh, I see," laughed Ranald. "You must have every step."

  "Yes, indeed," she replied, with determination.

  "Well, here it is."

  He seized a bucket, went to another tree, emptied the sap from thetrough into the bucket, and thence into the barrel, and from the barrelinto the big kettle.

  "Then from the big kettle into the little one," he said, catching up abig dipper tied to a long pole, and transferring the boiling sap as hespoke from one kettle to another.

  "But how can you tell when it is ready?" asked Mrs. Murray.

  "Only by tasting. When it is very sweet it must go into the littlekettle."

  "And then?"

  Her eager determination to know all the details delighted him beyondmeasure.

  "Then you must be very careful indeed, or you will lose all your day'swork, and your sugar besides, for it is very easy to burn."

  "But how can you tell when it is ready?"

  "Oh, you must just keep tasting every few minutes till you think youhave the syrup, and then for the sugar you must just boil it a littlelonger."

  "Well," said Mrs. Murray, "when it is ready what do you do?"

  "Then," he said, "you must quickly knock the fire from under it, andpour it into the pans, stirring it till it gets nearly cool."

  "And why do you stir it?" she asked.

  "Oh, to keep it from getting too hard."

  "Now I have learned something I never knew before," said the minister'swife, delightedly, "and I am very grateful to you. We must help eachother, Ranald."

  "Indeed, it is little I can do for you," he said, shyly.

  "You do not know how much I am going to ask you to do," she said,lightly. "Wait and see."

  At that moment a series of shrieks rose high above the shouting andlaughter of the games, and Maimie came flying down toward the camp,pursued by Don, with the others following.

  "Oh, auntie!" she panted, "he's going to--going to--" she paused, withcheeks burning.

  "It's forfeits, Mrs. Murray," explained Don.

  "Hoot, lassie," said Mrs. Cameron; "it will not much hurt you, anyway.They that kiss in the light will not kiss in the dark."

  "She played, and lost her forfeit," said Don, unwilling to be jeered atby the others for faint-heartedness. "She ought to pay."

  "I'm afraid, Don, she does not understand our ways," said Mrs. Murray,apologetically.

  "Be off, Don," said his mother. "Kiss Marget there, if you can--it willnot hurt her--and leave the young lady alone."

  "It's just horrid of them, auntie," said Maimie, indignantly, as theothers went back to their games.

  "Indeed," said Mrs. Cameron, warmly, "if you will never do worse thankiss a laddie in a game, it's little harm will be coming to you."

  But Maimie ignored her.

  "Is it not horrid, auntie?" she said.

  "Well, my dear, if you think so, it is. But not for these girls, whoplay the game with never a thought of impropriety and with no shock totheir modesty. Much depends on how you think about these things."

  But Maimie was not satisfied. She was indignant at Don for offeringto kiss her, but as she stood and watched the games going on under thetrees--the tag, the chase, the catch, and the kiss--she somehow began tofeel as if it were not so terrible after all, and to think that perhapsthese girls might play the game and still be nice enough. But she hadno thought of going back to them, and so she turned her attention tothe preparations for tea, now almost complete. Her aunt and Ranald weretoasting slices of bread at the big blazing fire, on forks made out oflong switches.

  "Let me try, auntie," she said, pushing up to the fire between her auntand Ranald. "I am sure I can do that."

  "Be careful of that fire," said Ranald, sharply, pulling back her skirt,that had blown dangerously near the blaze. "Stand back further," hecommanded.

  Mamie looked at him, surprise, indignation, and fear struggling for themastery. Was this the awkward boy that had blushed and stammered beforeher a week ago?

  "It's very dangerous," he explained to Mrs. Murray, "the wind blows outthe flames."

  As he spoke he handed Maimie his toasting stick and retired to the otherside of the fire, and began to attend to the boiling sap.

  "He needn't be such a bear," pouted Maimie.

  "My dear," replied her aunt, "what Ranald says is quite true. You cannotbe too careful in moving about the fire."

  "Well, he needn't be so cross about it," said Maimie. She had never beenordered about before in her life, and she did not enjoy the experience,and all the more at the hands of an uncouth country boy. She watchedRanald attending to the fire and the kettles, however, with a newrespect. He certainly had no fear of the fire, but moved about it andhandled it with the utmost sang-froid. He had a certain grace, too, inhis movements that caught her eye, and she wished he would come nearerso that she could speak to him. She had considerable confidence in herpowers of attraction. As if to answer her wish, Ranald came straight towhere her aunt and she were standing.

  "I think it will be time for tea now," he said, with a sudden return ofhis awkward manner, that made Maimie wonder why she had ever been afraidof him. "I will tell Don," he added, striding off toward the group ofboys and girls, still busy with their games under the trees.

  Soon Don's shout was heard: "Tea, ladies and gentlemen; take your seatsat the tables." And speedily there was a rush and scramble, and in a fewmoments the great heaps of green balsam boughs arranged around the firewere full of boys and girls pulling, pinching, and tumbling over oneanother in wild glee.

  The toast stood in brown heaps on birch-bark plates beside the fire, andbaskets were carried out of the shanty bulging with cakes; the teawas bubbling in the big tin tea-pail, and everything was ready for thefeast. But Ranald had caught Mrs. Murray's eye, and at a sign from her,stood waiting with the tea-pail in his hand.

  "Come on with the tea, Ranald," cried Don, seizing a plate of toast.

  "Wait a minute, Don," said Ranald, in a low tone.

  "What's the matter?"

  But Ranald stood still, looking silently at the minister's wife. Then,as all eyes turned toward her, she said, in a gentle, sweet voice,"I think we ought to give thanks to our Father in heaven for all thisbeauty about us and for all our joy."

  At once Ranald took off his hat, and as the boys followed his example,Mrs. Murray bowed her head and in a few, simple words lifted up thehearts of all with her own in thanksgiving for the beauty of the woodsand sky above them, and all the many gifts that came to fill their liveswith joy.

  It was not the first time that Ranald had heard her voice in prayer, butsomehow it sounded different in the open air under the trees and in themidst of all the jollity of the sugaring-off. With all other peoplethat Ranald knew religion seemed to be something apart from common days,common people, and common things, and seemed, besides, a solemn andterrible experience; but with the minister's wife, religion was a partof her every-day living, and seemed to be as easily associated with herpleasure as with anything else about her. It was so easy, so simple, sonatural, that Ranald could not help wondering if, after all, it was theright kind. It was so unlike the religion of the elders and all the goodpeople in the congregation. It was a great puzzle to Ranald, as to manyothers, both before and since his time.

  After tea was over the great business of the evening came on. Ranaldannounced that the taffy was ready, and Don, as master of ceremonies,immediately cried out: "The gentlemen will provide the ladies withplates."

  "Plates!" echoed the boys, with a laugh of derision.

  "Plates," repeated Don, stepping back to a great snowbank, near a balsamclump, and returning with a piece o
f "crust." At once there was a scurryto the snowbank, and soon every one had a snow plate ready. Then Ranaldand Don slid the little kettle along the pole off the fire, and withtin dippers began to pour the hot syrup upon the snow plates, where itimmediately hardened into taffy. Then the pulling began. What fun therewas, what larks, what shrieks, what romping and tumbling, till all wereheartily tired, both of the taffy and the fun.

  Then followed the sugar-molding. The little kettle was set back on thefire and kept carefully stirred, while tin dishes of all sorts, shapes,and sizes--milk-pans, pattie-pans, mugs, and cups--well greased withpork rind, were set out in order, imbedded in snow.

  The last act of all was the making of "hens' nests." A dozen or so ofhens' eggs, blown empty, and three goose eggs for the grown-ups, wereset in snow nests, and carefully filled from the little kettle. In a fewminutes the nests were filled with sugar eggs, and the sugaring-off wasover.

  There remained still a goose egg provided against any mishap.

  "Who wants the goose egg?" cried Don, holding it up.

  "Me!" "me!" "me!" coaxed the girls on every side.

  "Will you give it to me, Don, for the minister?" said Mrs. Murray.

  "Oh, yes!" cried Maimie, "and let me fill it."

  As she spoke, she seized the dipper, and ran for the kettle.

  "Look out for that fire," cried Don, dropping the egg into its snowbed.He was too late. A little tongue of flame leaped out from under thekettle, nipped hold of her frock, and in a moment she was in a blaze.With a wild scream she sprang back and turned to fly, but before she hadgone more than a single step Ranald, dashing the crowd right and left,had seized and flung her headlong into the snow, beating out the flameswith his bare hands. In a moment all danger was over, and Ranald liftedher up. Still screaming, she clung to him, while the women all ran toher. Her aunt reached her first.

  "Hush, Maimie; hush, dear. You are quite safe now. Let me see your face.There now, be quiet, child. The danger is all over."

  Still Maimie kept screaming. She was thoroughly terrified.

  "Listen to me," her aunt said, in an even, firm voice. "Do not befoolish. Let me look at you."

  The quiet, firm voice soothed her, and Maimie's screams ceased. Her auntexamined her face, neck, and arms for any signs of fire, but could findnone. She was hardly touched, so swift had been her rescue. Then Mrs.Murray, suddenly putting her arms round about her niece, and holding hertight, cried: "Thank God, my darling, for his great kindness to you andto us all. Thank God! thank God!"

  Her voice broke, but in a moment, recovering herself, she went on, "AndRanald, too! noble fellow!"

  Ranald was standing at the back of the crowd, looking pale, disturbed,and awkward. Mrs. Murray, knowing how hateful to him would be anydemonstrations of feeling, went to him, and quietly held out her hand,saying: "It was bravely done, Ranald. From my heart, I thank you."

  For a moment or two she looked steadily into his face with tearsstreaming down her cheeks. Then putting her hands upon his shoulders,she said, softly:

  "For her dear, dead mother's sake, I thank you."

  Then Maimie, who had been standing in a kind of stupor all this while,seemed suddenly to awake, and running swiftly toward Ranald, she put outboth hands, crying: "Oh, Ranald, I can never thank you enough!"

  He took her hands in an agony of embarrassment, not knowing what to door say. Then Maimie suddenly dropped his hands, and throwing her armsabout his neck, kissed him, and ran back to her aunt's side.

  "I thought you didn't play forfeits, Maimie," said Don, in a grievedvoice. And every one was glad to laugh.

  Then the minister's wife, looking round upon them all, said: "Dearchildren, God has been very good to us, and I think we ought to give himthanks."

  And standing there by the fire, they bowed their heads in a newthanksgiving to Him whose keeping never fails by day or night. And then,with hearts and voices subdued, and with quiet good nights, they wenttheir ways home.

  But as the Cameron sleigh drove off with its load, Maimie looked back,and seeing Ranald standing by the fire, she whispered to her aunt: "Oh,auntie! Isn't he just splendid?"

  But her aunt made no reply, seeing a new danger for them both, greaterthan that they had escaped.