"Bless your soul, Mr. Bob, you'll see all you want of it," was
David's quick answer. "There's gallons of sap that hasn't been
boiled down yet. It's a great year for maple-sugar, a great year."

"Are some years better than others?" Van inquired.

"Yes, indeed. What you want to make the sap run is a good cold snap,
followed by a thaw. That's just what we've been having. It's a prime
combination."

He jerked the reins impatiently.

"Get up there, Admiral! He's the very worst horse to stop that ever
was made. You see in summer he drags a hay-cart, and he has to keep
halting for the hay to be piled on; then in the fall we use him for
working on the road, and he has to wait while we pick up stones and
spread gravel; in the spring he makes the rounds of the sugar
orchard every morning and stands round on three legs while we empty
the sap buckets into the cask on the sledge. Poor soul, he never
seems to get going that he ain't hauled up. He's so used to it now
that he'd rather stop than go, I reckon."

David's prophecy appeared to be quite true, for the Admiral proved
to be so loath to proceed that every few paces he would hesitate,
turn his head, and seem to be inquiring where the hay, stones, or
sap buckets were to-day. It was only David's repeated urging which
kept him moving at all. In consequence it was dark before the boys
caught sight of the "Pine Ridge" lights gleaming through the tangle
of hemlock boughs that screened the drive, and saw the door of the
hospitable old farmhouse swing open.