At this rebuke the boys assembled, and there followed a hasty gabbling,
to freshen the words in young and uncertain memories. Then a small
vessel was dipped under floating toast, that covered the cider in the
great pitchers, and the ceremony of christening the orchard began. Only
the largest and most famous apple-bearers were thus saluted, for neither
cider nor gunpowder sufficient to honour more than a fraction of the
whole multitude existed in all Chagford. The orchard, viewed from the
east, stretched in long lines, like the legions of some arboreal army;
the moon set sparks and streaks of light on every snowy fork and bough;
and at the northwestern foot of each tree a network of spidery
shadow-patterns, sharp and black, extended upon the snow.

Mr. Blee himself made the first libation, led the first chorus, and
fired the first shot. Steaming cider poured from his mug, vanished,
sucked in at the tree-foot, and left a black patch upon the snow at the
hole of the trunk; then he stuck a fragment of sodden toast on a twig;
after which the christening song rang out upon the night--ragged at
first, but settling into resolute swing and improved time as its music
proceeded. The lusty treble of the youngsters soon drowned the notes of
their grandfathers; for the boys took their measure at a pace beyond the
power of Gaffer Lezzard and his generation, and sang with heart and
voice to keep themselves warm. The song has variants, but this was their
version--

"Here 's to thee, auld apple-tree,
Be sure you bud, be sure you blaw,
And bring forth apples good enough--
Hats full, caps full, three-bushel bags full,
Pockets full and all--
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!