Evening journal., 1905-04-05


. the sun was lifting his course I'm the
clearing sky and March had got the
temper OF the lamb and the frozen
pulses Of the forest had begun TO stir,
the great Kettle was mounted in the
yard and all gave q hand TO the wash
ing Of spouts and buckets Then came
tapping time in which helped carry
the buckets and tasted the sweet flow
that followed the auger's wound. The
woods were merry with our shouts, and
/ shortly one could hear the heartbeat Of
. the naples IN the sounding bucket 1t
was the revellle OF spring. Towering
trees shook down the gathered storms
Of snow and felt for the sunlight The
arch and shanty were repaired, the
great from kettle WIS seoured md lifted
70 its place, and then came the boiling.
IL was a great, an inestimable privi-
lege to sit on the robes Of faded fur in
the shanty and hear the fire roaring un-
der the kettle and smell the sweet odor
OF the boiling sap Uncle Eb minded
the .shanty and the Gre, and. the. woods
rang wiih his merry songs. When 1
think Of that phase Of the sugaring I
am face to fece with one Of the great
est perlls Of my life, My foster father
had consented to let me spend night
with Uncle Eb IN the shanty, and was
TO sleep on the robes, where he would
be beside me when he was not tending
the FIRE It had been n mild. bright day,
and David came up with our supper at
sunset He sat talking with Uncle Eb
for an hour or so, and the woods werQ
darklmg when he went away.
When he started on the dark tran
that led TO the clearing I wondered al
his courage-it was so black beyond the
firellght While we sat alone I plead
for story, but the thoughts OF Uncle
Eb had gone to roost early IN sort OF
gloomy meditation.
"Be sull, my boy, said he, "an' 60 Z
sleep. I amt a-goln' c tell no yarns an
git ye all stirred up. Ye go e sleep.
Come mornin we'll go down L the
brook an see If we can't find a mink
or tew n tho traps"
remember hearing a great cracking
Of twigs In the dark wood before /
slept, As I lifted my head Uncle sIsb
whispered "Harkw and we both lis.
tened. A bent and aged figure came
stalking into the firellght. His long
white hair mingled with his beard and
covered his coat collar behind.
"Dont be scairt," said Uncle Eb.
"'Tain't no bear. It's nuthin' but
poet"
knew him for a man who wandered
much and had a rhyme for every one
a kindly man, with a reputation sfor
laziness and without any home.
"Bilin'. chT'. said the poet.
"Bilin'," said Uncle Eb.
I'm b'ilin' over n the next bush,"
said the poet, sitting down.
"How's everything in JinglevineY
Uncle Eb inquired. 81
Then the newcomer answered:
"Weil, neighhor dear. in Jinglevnle
/ We live by faith. but we eat our fH
An what w'u'd we do IL IL want fer
prayer?
Fer we can't raise thing but whiskerI
an hair"
Gurus how you can talk po'try,"
said Uncle Eb. The only thing I've
got eg'in you is them whiskers an thet
hair. 'Tain't Christian"
"'Tain't what's on the head. but
what's in It thet's the important
thing" said the poet. "Did l ever tell
I Sc what / wrote about the birdsg"
v Don know 8 ye ever did," said I'm
lle Eb. stirring his,fire
"The boyll like it mebbe," said he,
taking a dirty piece OF paper out OF his
pocket and holding it TO the light.
The poem interested me. young as I
was, not less than the strange figure OF
thesold poet who lived unknown in the
backwoods and who died. / dare say,
with many a finer song in his heart.
/ remember how he stood in the fire.
light and chanted the words in a sing
song tone- He gave US that rude copy