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"Here, Frank, is something to console ye for your bad luck." And he held out something in a tin cup. "What is it?" said Frank; "water?" "Something almost as good," said Harris. "It was water the boys came down here in search of; and they've tapped five barrels of sirup in the operation, and finally they've stuck the gimlet into a cask of taste on't." Frank knew what it was by the smell.
"There, there, Alvan, please don't swear again," said the lady, interrupting. Hillbrook, by the way, is not the only place in Christendom where a vestigial polytheism forbids the taking in vain of the Evil One's name. The jug of maple sirup which the easy ways of village life had permitted Hillbrook's foremost citizen to carry home from the store was not there. "Are you quite sure, Alvan?"
It got rumored around, somehow, that there was plenty of water in the vessel, and the boys went to hunting for't, and stumbled on the quartermaster's stores, and tapped a few casks, I believe, mostly sirup, but one turned out to be whiskey. Dry as we be, it's no more'n nat'ral 't we should drink a drop, under the circumstances." "Who tapped the casks?" "That's more'n I know.
It stood around the boiling place in kettles, large and small, and in cans bearing the labels of well known Boston and New York packers, which had been purchased at Myers. Of special interest to me was a platform near the boiling place, on which lay several deer skins, that had been taken as nearly whole as possible from the bodies of the animals, and utilized as holders of the sirup.
Strathsay goes about as of old, and sees there be no speck on the buttery-shelves, that the sirup of her lucent plums be clear as the light strained through carbuncles, her honeycombs unbroken, her bread like manna, and no followers about her maids. And Mrs.
But from warm beds of repose! We avoid each other's eyes, and one's subdued "please pass that sirup pitcher!" is but tolerated like some boorish profanation of a church service. The simple truth, of course, is that this is the one hour of the day when we are face to face with the evil visage of life unmasked; our little rosy illusions of yestereve are stale and crumpled.
Jones was noted for her ability to prepare food well, and in a short while invited us to a delicious supper of fried chicken, fried ham, some very fine home-made sugar-cane sirup, and an abundance of milk and butter. At supper Deacon Jones told of the many preachers he had entertained and their fondness for chicken.
"O, papa," said Grace, "I shouldn't want to be a soldier if I couldn't have anything nice to eat. Can't they get pies and canned peaches and things? Will they go without buckwheat cakes and sirup in the winter?" "Ah! my little daughter, men who love their country are willing to make greater sacrifices than merely nice food."
I was going to put some of my nightly blue sirreup on your hangerjif, and now I won't see if I do!" "I don't want anybody's sirup," retorted Johnny; "'tic'ly such a cross party's as you are." "Johnny Eastman, you just stop murdering me." "Murdering you?" "Yes; 'he that hateth his brother." "I'm not your brother, I should hope." "Well, a cousin's just as bad." "No, not half so bad.
"What is 'primal cause, grandfather?" asked Betty. "The thing that began it all," said grandfather, regarding her quizzically. "I don't agree with your conclusion," said Bertrand, pausing to put sirup on Jamie's cakes, after repeated demands therefor. "If the cause be evil, it follows that to annihilate the cause wipe it out of existence must be righteous."
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