bag, he had lamed a horse -- a satisfactory driver
had not been discovered since Gordon... left.
He had heard of a law restraining the sale of patent
medicines, of Snibbs' Mixture, and what the local
drinkers would do, already deprived of the more
legitimate forms of spirituous refreshment, was difficult
to say. The postmaster predicted they would
take to "dope." Then there was to be a sap-boiling
over on the western mountain, tomorrow night, at
old man Entriken's... Everybody had been invited;
if the weather was ugly it would take place
the first clear spell.

Sap-boilings, Gordon knew, held late in spring in
the maple groves, lasted all night. Baskets of food
were driven to the scene; the fires under the great,
iron kettles were kept replenished; everybody stirred
the bubbling sap, ate, gabbled; the young people
even danced on the grass.

It was a romantic ceremonial: the unusual hours
of its celebration, the mystery of night in close groves
lit by the stars temporarily unsettled life from its
prosaic, arduous journey toward the inevitable,
blind termination. It moved the thoughts into unwonted
fantasy, the heart to new, unguessed possibilities.
For that night established values, life-long
habits, negations, prudence, were set at naught.

Gordon wondered whether Meta Beggs would be
there? He would like to be with her at a sap-boil-

[[240]]

p239 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p240w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p241

v?