"This is a tedious piece of business," thought I, but seeing the lad
so anxious, I said nothing. About twelve o'clock he asked me, very
mysteriously, for a piece of pork to hang over the sugar.
"Pork!" said I, looking into the pot, which was half full of a very
black-looking liquid; "what do you want with pork?"
"Shure an' 'tis to keep the sugar from burning."
"But, John, I see no sugar!"
"Och, but 'tis all sugar, only 'tis molasses jist now. See how it
sticks to the ladle. Aha! But Miss Katie will have the fine lumps of
sugar when she awakes in the morning."
I grew so tired and sleepy that I left John to finish his job, went
to bed, and soon forgot all about the maple sugar. At breakfast I
observed a small plate upon the table, placed in a very conspicuous
manner on the tea-tray, the bottom covered with a hard, black
substance, which very much resembled pitch. "What is that
dirty-looking stuff, John?"
"Shure an 'tis the maple sugar."
"Can people eat that?"
"By dad, an' they can; only thry it, ma'arm."
"Why, 'tis so hard, I cannot cut it."
With some difficulty, and not without cutting his finger, John broke
a piece off, and stuffed it into the baby's mouth.
