Among the maples

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Sugaring Time .... . . i

II. A Day in the Old Church . . . . ii

Chapter I Sugaring Time

After enduring the rigors and enjoying the pleasures of a Vermont winter, the sturdy Green Mountain boys were getting ready for the days of the flowing sap. The sugar harvest of March is always a busy time for the farmers who have maple orchards.

At the MacLean farm hundreds of pails were being washed, hundreds of maple trees were bored, and the wooden spouts were inserted to coax the sweet fluid into the hanging pails. The sugar-house was put in order, and the new evaporator was proudly set in its place, where the plain old-fashioned boiling pan had done service for so many years.

Hugh MacLean had predicted a good sugar crop,’’ and the frosty nights and sunny days of early March were making the farmers smile, for they knew it was just the kind of weather to bring the sap from the trees.

The young folks were also feeling happy, as they thought of the sugar-parties that were in store for them. Lovers and friends would soon meet each other amid the wholesome and soothing mists of the sugar-house.

Those who were suffering from colds or bronchitis expected much benefit, or perhaps a positive cure from the clouds of vapor that rose from the boiling sap. At any rate it seldom happened that any one, while working in the sugar-house, ever caught a cold even when exposing themselves to the severities of March weather.

The older folks, too, were looking forward to delightful visits when gray-haired fathers and mothers would again gather under the maples to recall sweet memories of by-gone days, and to watch, with critical eye, the improved methods of ‘‘ bilin’ sap.’'

The MacLean maple-orchard was well situated on the south side of the hill, and Hugh was always among the first to sugar off. His product was fine in quality and Hugh was as proud of that fact as he was of the good price that his syrup brought.

It was his custom to send a gallon of the first new syrup to the parson, as a kind of an offering of the first fruits; for Farmer MacLean believed in the old Mosaic liberality, and he was fond of applying it as far as possible to the Christian church. He paid tithes of all he possessed, but he went further than the Pharisee did, for he attended to the weightier matters of the law — judgment, mercy and faith, which the Pharisees omitted. Hugh MacLean was a native of Renwicktown, but his Scotch parentage and his ability to talk the ‘‘ braid Scots ” gave him a firm hold on the Scottish hearts of Caledonia county.

It was the first ‘‘ sugaring-off ’’ of the season at the MacLean farm some ten years ago. Among the invited guests was young Malcolm MacGregor, one of the sturdy youths of Renwicktown; he was a tall, broad-shouldered and muscular lad, with a good mind, a manly nature, and a happy disposition which won for him a host of friends. Another of his guests was Jack Douglass, a jolly Scot, who had not yet lost the rich burr of his native tongue. Malcolm had accompanied Mary Ferguson to the party, for without her presence he could hardly enjoy even a sugarparty.

For many years, in fact, even from childhood, these two had been drawn to each other by strong ties of friendship, and the friendship had grown with the years, until they now thought that they could only exist for one another.

A few moments after Mary and Malcolm had seated themselves in the sugar-house, another young couple appeared at the door; the spotless linen of the young man, as well as his plastered hair, were a familiar sight to the people of Renwicktown. The new and expensive suit of clothes which he wore, together with his patent leathers, were hardly in keep-

Among the MapCes ing with the occasion, and he was sorry afterwards that he had not appeared in plainer dress.

Luke Burney (for that was his name) seemed rather uneasy as he took a seat nearly opposite to Malcolm. Even the new sugar could not put sweetness into his countenance. He evidently thought that he had not the right seat, and felt much like a disappointed office seeker. Malcolm, however, was enjoying that which was sweeter to him than maple honey, and yet the syrup and the sugar never tasted better to him, and he ate such a good share of it that Mary whispered warningly, You’d better stop, Malcolm, I’m afraid you’ll be sick.”

''No danger; I’ll go for the pickles pretty soon,” said he.

" A say, you MacGregor ! Dinna brust yersel’,” said Jack Douglass, who always could be relied on to keep up the merriment.

Then looking at Walter MacLean, who was dipping out the hot syrup from the evaporator and pouring it back again. Jack inquired, " What are ye daein’ that for, Walter?”

" Why, Jack, don’t you know how sap’s boiled yet? ” said Walter, with a smile.

" No ! He’s only a green-horn,” said Angus Mackay.

" He ain’t naturalized yet ” — " send him back to the heather,” was the bantering chorus that came from several of the boys.

Haud yer whisht ! ’’ said Jack, it’s time you bairns wer a’ in bed ; if A’m a green-horn, A’m a full-blooded ane, and no a cross atween a thistle an’ a shamrock like Angus Mackay; A wadna be a Scotch-Irishman for the warld.”

‘‘ Look up your pedigree. Jack,” said Angus, and you’ll find a wee bit of the shamrock in your blood — that’s where you get your good nature, but your bad traits come from the thistle.”

Jack made no answer, but turned to Walter again, and asked him to explain about the syrup. ‘‘ Well,” said Walter, we pour the syrup out this way with the dipper to see how near it’s done. If it pours in a sheet, it’s ready to be taken off the fire ; but if it doesn’t sheet, then we let it stay on longer. When it’s taken off too soon it won’t keep, and when it’s boiled too long it will sugar ; see the point. Jack? ”

‘‘First rate, ye’re a scientist, Walter,” he replied; “ but A’d like to know whan the maple sugar was discovered, an’ wha hit on it first.”

“ Wal,” said Hugh MacLean, who was always ready to tell a good story and was well versed in the traditions of Vermont, “ the story runs somethin’ like this: An In jin chief was goin’ off on a hunt, and when he kissed his squaw good-bye, he told her to have some nice venison cooked for him when he came home. Wal, the poor squaw melted snow an’ put in the venison to cook, but she got to makin’ mocassins an’ it put the cookin’ out of her head; so the meat got badly burned ”

‘‘ Poor wummin, she wad get her scalp lifted for that/’ interrupted Jack.

‘‘ Wal, then, I guess she was afraid of a scoldin’, but you can’t git the best of a woman, don’t y’ see, so when she saw she had no time to melt snow again, she got some of the sap that was runnin’ from a maple tree near by, an’ she poured it into the pot. When the chief came home he found a lot of sticky stuff in the bottom of the pot, but he couldn’t see nuthin’ of Mrs. In jin. After a little while the squaw plucked up courage and came out of her hidin’ place, and she found her big chief scrapin’ the pot an’ smackin’ his lips. He was so tickled with the sweet mess that he hugged an’ kissed his good wife, an’ she got her first taste of the sugar from his lips ; that’s the way maple sugar was discovered.

Come, lads, let us play Injin,” said Jack.

Meanwhile Luke Burney was feeling more contented, as he found employment in stirring a saucer of sugar for Minnie Rogers, and helping her to a pan of sugar-on-snow.” While he was thus occupied Angus Mackay was finishing his third saucerful.

Angus,” said Malcolm, you’ll need a pickle after all that sugar.”

'' Don’t you talk, MacGregor,” said Angus, in a tone of banter. You’ve swallowed more sweetness on this here occasion than I’ve done for a whole month, and you’re not near satisfied yet.”

There was a general titter at Malcolm’s expense.

but he smiled and said, ‘‘ See here, Angus Mackay, you’re on the program for a song to-night, and we don’t want you to spoil your high notes with sugar and pickles.”

“ Nae fears o’ that,” says Jack, it’s hard to spile sic a skirlin’ voice as Angus Mackay’s.”

But Mackay was used to such thrusts from Douglass, and he was thinking more of a fresh supply of syrup than of his fine voice, so he went to Uncle Hugh ” to have Jack’s saucer and his own filled again. On his way back to his seat he stumbled against the end of a board; before he could recover his balance he had spilled the contents of one saucer on Malcolm’s knee, while the other was emptied on Luke Burney’s shoulder.

Luke jumped up like a jack-in-the-box; his face was crimson, but not with pain, for his flesh had escaped the warm shower; his fine, new coat, however, was a sorry sight, and Malcolm’s trousers were no better. Luke was not much consoled by having company in his misery. Even Angus’s profuse apologies and kind assistance in trying to clean the coat could hardly keep back the storm of rage that was rising in the breast of Burney.

It’s no laughing matter, I can tell you,” he muttered fiercely, as he caught sight of the mischievous grin on Jack’s face.

‘‘ Mon, dear, dinna worry yersel’ aboot a wee bit o’ sugar; it could no be helpit, an’ A’m sure ye’re far sweeter noo than ye iver was in yer life afore/'

But Luke's fun, as well as his coat, was spoiled for that evening. He tried to forget the mishap and to look pleasant, but Hugh MacLean's coat, which Luke was forced to wear for the rest of the evening, was a constant reminder of his grief, and only helped to keep him in a sullen mood.

The occurrence, however, had a different effect on Malcolm MacGregor. He was as much amused as any one in the company. His sublime patience, and strong sense of humor, gave him an advantage over the gloomy and irascible Burney.

No one was quicker to notice the contrast between the tempers of the two young men than Mary Ferguson. While she was proud of Malcolm, yet she pitied Luke, because he suffered so much by the contrast. Mary was aware that young Burney was one of her admirers. She regarded him in a friendly way, but it was his ambition to win the heart and hand of her who was so much admired in Renwicktown, not only for her beauty and her mental endowments, but also for her sterling character. He took every opportunity of speaking to Mary that evening, but she was not so affable as usual, though Luke spoke in the best tones that he could command under the circumstances, and summoned all the wit that the accident had left in him.

But Mary appeared sober. Her mind was dwelling not so much on what young Burney had said in his anger as on what he might have said and done at other times and places with such an ugly temper. Her large brown eyes could read in Luke’s angry countenance whole volumes of cruel words and cruel deeds, only waiting the opportunity to express themselves. Mary could not help noticing the quick, malevolent glances that Luke sent from time to time in the direction of Malcolm. From that night she began to have a dread of Luke Burney’s malice, though she could hardly give a good reason for her fears.

Her thoughts troubled her so much that she could not enjoy the fun in her usual way, though she was among the singers of the evening, and Nellie Guthrie’s performance on the violin was fine enough to drive all care away.

As for Angus Mackay’s solos, they were not up to his high standard, but his rendering of We’d Better Bide a Wee ” won great applause. Jack Douglass was of the opinion that Mackay’s voice was affected by the syrup he had spilled, more than by what he had eaten.

It was near the midnight hour when the company began to disperse, but the full moon was smiling on the scene, turning night into day for the jolly feasters. The snow-clad hills reflected the bright moonlight, and the clumps of maples and evergreens or the hilltops appeared like armies and their sentinels guarding the peaceful cottages in the valley. The sleigh bells kept up their music for nearly an hour,

10 tdmong the Maples

while the sleighs, one by one, were leaving the Mac- Lean home and gliding over the smooth, icy roads.

Malcolm, with Mary by his side, was driving his fleet-footed little Morgan, but kept him at a slow trot or a walk, for they had many things to talk about, and the way home was far too short for them.

What cared they for the sharp, biting air of the frosty night? With warm hearts and fur robes, they had courage to face the coldest breeze that ever struck the hills of Vermont.

Happy for them that they knew nothing of the cold blasts that were yet to come into their lives to chill their hearts and embitter their cup of happiness.

Chapter II A Day In The Old Church

The Old Church in Renwicktown belonged to a ‘'New Light ” congregation. The pulpit had been vacant for three years, and the ministers of the presbytery were often called to dispense communion and preach to the little flock. The Reverend Theodore Brown, from New York State, was to preach for two Sabbaths, and his presence was no little joy and encouragement to the people. They needed some one like Father Brown to cheer them up; for they had called three men, within as many years, to become their pastor ; but the unexpected would always happen ; the preachers that the people wanted did not want to come, while the ones that really wanted to be their pastor were never called.

Father Brown was one of the able divines of the “ New Light ” Covenanter church. There was a fine audience present on the first day that he occupied the pulpit of Renwicktown.

A number of the “ Old Lights ” were among the hearers, as their own church was closed for that day. Few men were superior to Theodore Brown as a theologian and an expositor of the Bible. Though he seldom wrote a sermon, his preaching was always remarkable for thoroughness, accuracy and clearness of statement.

With all his pulpit power, Mr. Brown had yet one little weakness as a preacher; he was easily annoyed by the slightest inattention or noise on the part of his hearers. At the same time he had the courage and severity to free himself from such annoyances. The man or boy who might be caught napping in church or talking to his neighbor while Father Brown was in the pulpit was sure to pay dearly for his irreverence.

The church was unusually warm that fine May day, and those who sat near the stoves in the rear of the house began to feel uncomfortable.

The preacher was in the middle of his exposition of the forty-sixth Psalm.

Luke Burney was sitting in one of the back pews and was getting restless under the influence of the box-stoves. He turned around twice and looked fiercely, first at the stoves and then at the genial sexton who sat serenely drinking in prophecy and promise in spite of the strange blessings that were being heaped on his head.

Then Luke began to talk to one of his friends who sat beside him. Father Brown stood these maneuvers as long as he usually did. Then the storm burst, and the lightning flashed out of a clear sky.

If that young man in the back seat wants to do the preaching, let him come up to the pulpit/’

Then the preacher paused. Every eye was turned in the direction of the seat toward which the speaker had pointed. Poor Luke felt the gaze of the audience as much as the rebuke from the pulpit.

Harry Galbraith and Malcolm MacGregor looked over at him and grinned good-naturedly. To them it was a huge joke on Burney, but the latter answered their smiles with hard looks.

At the close of the service David MacGregor put his hand on Luke’s shoulder and counselled him to accept the rebuke in the right spirit.

Luke’s anger knew no bounds at this second attack, and he called the elder some hard names. Malcolm was not the lad to allow his father to be abused by any man in Renwicktown. He followed Burney to the sheds behind the church. There he demanded an apology for his father. Luke refused with a terrible oath. The next moment he was stretched out on the ground, where he lay for several minutes before venturing to rise.

Great was the grief of Elder MacGregor when he heard how his son had broken the Sabbath and the Golden Rule with one blow.

Chapter III The New Teacher

According to its size and wealth the village of Renwicktown was one of the most progressive in the State of Vermont. Its Yankee spirit was bound to keep its business concerns up to date, while its infusion of Scottish blood made it ambitious to imitate Auld Reekie herself in scholarly attainments.

As a still more potent factor in the growth and prosperity of Renwicktown we must consider her two Presbyterian churches, one of which was a Covenanter society. A Scottish community is usually a religious one, and it was emphatically so with this Scotch- American town. Her social and domestic affairs, her school and commercial interests were all under the wholesome influence of the church. Even men of the world felt that their homes and property and happiness were comparatively safe in the little mountain village so long as the church bells continued to remind the people of their duty to God and their fellowmen.

A religious atmosphere of this type is always favorable to the development of an appetite for learning. So it was not surprising that the School Board of Renwicktown managed to establish a High School in the village in spite of strong opposition from some of the rustic fathers.

The High School was fortunate from the very first in having teachers of ability and thorough training for the work. The directors did not hesitate to accept of good instructors even from the Queen’s dominions. One of these was a young lady from Canada by the name of Emma MacLaren. When she arrived at Renwicktown station she was met by some of her pupils, mostly girls. They had spent much of their summer vacation in wondering and guessing who and what manner of being this foreign teacher might be. Now, as her train came thundering along through the village, the watchers were in breathless excitement, expecting soon to see the real Miss MacLaren.

They found that their imagination had taken some wild flights in regard to her personal appearance; when they beheld the plain, dignified school marm ” the pupils were more or less disappointed. My ! but isn’t she tall,” gasped one of the girls.

'' Well, I should say so — but she has a pleasant face,” remarked another.

'' Why, she doesn’t look as though she knew any more than a Yankee teacher,” said a third.

Doubt if she knows as much,” blurted Jean Galbraith, whose patriotism was easily aroused. In a few moments their womanly tenderness had smothered all girlish criticisms, and the pupils rallied around the new teacher, welcoming her to their country, their school and their homes. While walking from the station the teacher’s ear caught the sound of Scotch words from some of the granite cutters from Aberdeen. She also overheard a few sentences of Gaelic, and her heart leaped for joy, for she herself was of Scotch Highland parentage and came from a Scotch- Canadian town; she felt that she was not far from home with such familiar sounds around her. It was at Mrs. Guthrie’s cottage that Emma MacLaren was to make her home in Renwicktown, and no better spot could be found in the neighborhood for resting a tired brain and for soothing aching nerves after a hard day’s work in the school room. Mrs. Guthrie was a queen of hospitality and knew so well how to make life happy for nervous teachers and students. Her home was near the little winding stream that gave the village no small part of its beauty and added much to its wealth and importance.

Along the road which follows this Renwick river from Sandy Ridge two of the High School boys were driving together the day after Miss MacLaren arrived. As they approached the village the boys saw a small row-boat near the middle of the river, but the occupants of the boat were apparently not making much headway in rowing. Nellie Guthrie had taken Miss MacLaren out for a boat ride and, as the river was lower than usual, the boat was soon resting on a sand bank. Nellie was tugging desperately at the oars, and Miss MacLaren was vigorously pushing against the sand bank with a stout branch of a tree, when the two boys, Malcolm MacGregor and Harry Galbraith, appeared on the scene.

'' What you trying to do, Nellie,'' asked Malcolm.

‘‘ Well, don't you see what we're trying to do ? " replied Nellie rather impatiently.

Malcolm, giving the reins to Harry, leaped from the buggy, and, regardless of his new shoes and other impediments, was soon wading in the water to the rescue.

Why, Malcolm, you'll catch your death of cold ; and it's deep in some places around here," objected Nellie.

‘‘ Don't you worry about that ; it takes more water than a brook to scare me."

He soon reached the little shoal, and was pushing the boat into deeper water, when he suddenly found himself in an uncomfortable depth. As he let go of the boat he stepped in still deeper, and would have gone under had he not used both hands and feet in true swimming style. Harry, knowing his friend's ability to take care of himself in the water, was convulsed with laughter, while those in the boat were screaming with terror. Malcolm, in half a minute, was standing on dry ground smiling at himself and at the frightened faces of Nellie and Miss MacLaren. When the excitement and merriment were over the two boys were introduced to their new teacher and she expressed a hope that her next meeting with them would be on dry land.

18 Idmong the Maples

What do you think of her, Malcolm ? ’’ asked Harry, as the two drove homeward in a hurry.

‘‘ Dunno ; wait till I get these wet clothes off — my thoughts are sort o’ chilly just now, but I’m glad I didn’t have to pull that teacher out of the water ; she’s tall enough to make a good Statue of Liberty.”

‘‘ But you ought to be glad of the chance to rescue such a fine looking woman from drowning,” answered Harry, humorously.

‘‘ Oh, of course I’d try mighty hard to save her if she was in danger, but I’d rather have her thrash me in the school room than have to swim out with her on my back; I declare I would. When young Geordie MacDonald fell into the river two summers ago I had a big job to get him out. The little fellow struggled so hard that I came near going down with him, and by the time we reached the bank I was nearly as exhausted as he was.”

‘‘ Well, now,” said Harry with a smile, ‘‘ how in the world could you save a big nervous woman, more than twice the size of Geordie, if she was struggling and drowning over there in that deep place where it’s twenty feet ? ”

Dunno ; can’t tell what a fellow can do till he’s tried, but I ain’t going to cross bridges till I come to ’em,” said Malcolm.

Some events seem to cast their shadows before them, and there are words spoken in jest that sometimes appear prophetic in the light of what comes after.

About a month after young MacGregor took his little plunge in the river several of the young people of the village were out boating. It was a bright Saturday afternoon ; the early frosts of September and October had given to the foliage those exquisite shades of crimson, orange and yellow which make the autumns of Vermont so delightful to the eye — surpassing even spring in point of beauty.

The river was high as a result of the recent rains and the boating was at its best. Mary Ferguson, Minnie Rogers and Malcolm MacGregor occupied one boat, and Miss MacLaren, Nellie Guthrie and Angus Mackay were in the other.

After the boys had rowed up the stream about half a mile they turned to go back to the landing. Then the girls insisted on taking the oars, for they could handle them as skilfully as the boys. So Mary Ferguson changed places with Malcolm and proved her ability to fill his place by her vigorous and steady strokes.

Nellie, whose boat was in the rear, was hurrying to get hold of the oars, but in changing seats with Angus she lost her balance and fell into the water. The boat was upset by Nellie’s fall and the three occupants found themselves struggling in the river beyond their depth. Those in the other boat saw what was happening, and Mary soon turned the skiff and pulled rapidly to the rescue. Malcolm sprang nimbly into the water and swam toward Miss MacLaren, who was nearest to him. Angus was holding Nellie above water and making good progress toward the river bank. The school teacher had gone down once and just appeared above the surface again when Malcolm reached her and caught hold of her arm. She made a desperate effort to throw both arms around him, but he skilfully avoided her by diving; then, coming up behind her, he seized her by the arms, and, with a few powerful leg-strokes, he reached shallow water where he and Miss MacLaren were able to stand. When they were safe on the bank Miss MacLaren felt quite exhausted, though she and Nellie soon recovered from their fright.

How can I ever thank you, Malcolm, for this second rescue ! she said, and a faint smile was noticeable, even through her tears.

Malcolm could not refrain from a burst of laughter as he thought of the other rescue ; but he was also laughing at the drenched appearance of all four, especially the young ladies.

All hands were soon feeling merry as well as grateful over the happenings of the day ; they hurried back to the landing with all speed, for the air was cool and both Nellie Guthrie and Miss MacLaren were in danger of taking severe colds from the soaking they received. It is needless to say that Emma MacLaren had a high regard — an affectionate regard — for young MacGregor from that exciting day. It was difficult for her, indeed, not to show her partiality toward Malcolm in the school room, but her dignified manner and good sense helped her to show her gratitude in ways that offended no one and won the respect of all.

Chapter IV A Lesson In History

Everything went along smoothly for a number of weeks in the Renwicktown High School under the new instructor frpm Canada.

Emma MacLaren proved herself capable in every way. The pupils could not help respecting her, as she displayed many sterling traits of character along with her splendid scholarship.

The decorum of the school was all that could be desired; this was due, in a measure, to the fact that Malcolm MacGregor and Harry Galbraith were the custodians of peace and good order in the school room.

Woe to the first mischief-maker or young anarchist who dared to throw a bomb of disorder into that peaceful hall of learning! He was sure to feel the weight of Malcolm’s wrath or the force of Harry’s terrible right hand. The two boys had concluded that Miss MacLaren was just the right kind of a teacher for their school, and they resolved to encourage her to stay with them. They knew that the school had suffered from the changing of teachers every year.

Emma MacLaren soon felt at home in Renwicktown and almost forgot that she was in a strange land. If every American town was like this one, she thought, the Yankees, after all, were almost as good people as her own Canadians.

To her, the quiet old-fashioned Sabbaths of the little village were especially delightful, and reminded her of home. There were no saloons to mar the beauty and peace of the day of rest. The very atmosphere seemed pervaded with the spirit of worship, while saint and sinner, old and young, obeyed the summons of the church bells.

Emma found great pleasure in taking early morning walks along the stream which was one of the chief ornaments of the place.