a
large vessel preparatory to boiling. In an open space, towards the
centre of the area, is a huge cauldron dangling from a hob, and under it
crackles a fire of pine and tamarac. At a little distance from this
stands the cabin of the proprietor, where are stowed away all the
utensils necessary for sugar-making. There too his hammock swings, for
during the whole period when the maple bleeds, he lives like an Indian
in the forest.

Presently the sound of voices is heard coming up the slopes, and in a
short time the whole party that has been invited to the sugar-festival
finds itself collected under the maples. They bring with them baskets of
provisions, hams and shoulders, eggs, and the indispensable allowance of
strong waters.

"The first thing to be done, my friends," cries the host to his guests,
"is to drink the health of the forest wives in a draught of maple
water."

And immediately tin cups are applied to the notches. When they are
filled, the toast is drunk with all the honors.

"Now," resumes the host, "come up to the cauldron and get your share of
the syrup."

One by one, the guests approach the huge vessel where the maple water is
boiling and bubbling. Each one holds in his hand a wooden basin filled
with fresh clean snow, and into that the hospitable host ladles out the
golden stream. With the accompaniment of new bread, this dish is
delicious, for it is peculiar to the maple sugar and syrup that they do
not satiate, much less nauseate, as other saccharine compositions do.

After this preliminary repast, the guests indulge in various amusements.
The older folks sit together at the cabin door, chatting of their
youthful frolics in former sugar-making days, while the young people
sing, flirt, promenade and enjoy themselves as only the young know how.
Some of the more active go about gathering dry branches and wood to keep
up the fire, and others saunter a little out of sight on a visit to the
demijohns which they have hidden behind the rocks.

After a time, the host gives the signal for taffy-making. This part of
the fun is reserved for the girls. They throw aside their mantles, push
back their hoods, tuck up their sleeves and plunge their white fingers
into the rapidly cooling masses of syrup. The mechanical process of
drawing the arms backwards and forwards is in itself an uninteresting
occupation, but somehow under these Canadian maples, in that bracing
mountain atmosphere, and amid all the accessori