ner depths--leaves and dirt
and apples and ashes--it was like excavating through the seven Troys to get
to bottom. We brought down the big pan, now clothed in the honors of a
season's use, and cleaned off the cobwebs incident to a year's sojourn in
the attic. By sunset we had a panful of sap boiling merrily and already
taking on a distinctly golden tinge. We tasted it. It was very syrupy.
Letting the fire die down, we went in to get supper in the utmost content
of spirit.

"It's so much simpler than last year," I said, as we sat over our cozy
"tea,"--"having the pan and the oven ready-made, and all--"

"You don't suppose anything could happen to it while we're in here?"
suggested Janet. "Shan't I just run out and see?"

"No, sit still. What could happen? The fire's going out."

"Yes, I know." But her voice was uncertain.

"You see, I've been all through it once," I reassured her.

As we rose, Janet said, "Let's go out before we do the dishes." And to
humor her I agreed. We lighted the lantern and stepped out on the back
porch. It was quite dark, and as we looked off toward the fireplace we saw
gleams of red.

"How funny!" I murmured. "I didn't think there was so much fire left."

We felt our way over, through the yielding mud of the orchard, and as I
raised the lantern we stared in dazed astonishment. The pan was a
blackened mass, lit up by winking red eyes of fire. I held the lantern
more closely. I seized a stick and poked--the crisp black stuff broke and
crumbled into an empty and blackening pan. A curious odor arose.

"It couldn't have!" gasped Janet.

"It couldn't--but it has!" I said.

It was a matter for tears, or rage, or laughter. And laughter won. When we
recovered a little we took up the black shell of carbon that had once been
syrup-froth; we laid it gently beside the oven, for a keepsake. Then we
poured water in the pan, and steam rose hissing to the stars.

"Does it leak?" faltered Janet.

"Leak!" I said. I was on my knees now, watching the water stream through
the parted seam of the pan bottom, down into the ashes below.

"The question is," I went on as I got up, "did it boil away because it
leaked, or did it leak because it boiled away?"

"I don't see that it matters much," said Janet. She was showing symptoms
of depression at this point.

"It matters a great deal," I said. "Because, you see, we've got to tell
Jonathan, and it makes all the difference how we put it."

"I see," said Ja