brown.

Always the brown sugar - and each Autumn the same colloquy:

"Mr. Van, don't you think we can get along without the brown sugar this
year?"

"Now, Mrs. Van, you've got to have a little brown sugar in the house -
and it comes cheaper by the barrel."

"Yes, so it does, Mr. Van . . . . . We can use it, I suppose, in
something . . . . . And we always have had it, and . . . . . Well, do as
you think best."

White sugar was good when you had something to go with it.

But brown sugar stood alone - sticky, heavy, crumbly lumps that held
together until a fellow could tip back his head and drop one of the
chunks in his mouth.

And after school grandmother could be persuaded to cut a full-size slice
of bread (thick) and spread it with butter (thick) and you'd start away
with it (quick) - just nibbling at one edge, not really biting - and
you'd sneak into the dark place under the stairs (or into the pantry) -
and reach deep down into the white sugar barrel - and grab a handful -
and sprinkle it over the bread-and-butter - and shake back into the
barrel all that didn't stick to the butter - and then do it all over
again - and pat it down hard - and then sprinkle just a little bit more
on hurriedly, (because grandfather's cane could be heard tapping down
the hall) - and then you emerged with dignity, but with no unnecessary