OLD WHTEE 
WING 
HE sun had crossed the line, 
the snow was beginning to 
melt, and now and then the 
call of a robin was heard. It 
was ‘“‘sugar time’; the buck- 
ets were hung, and the large 
pans on the arch were send- 
ing volumes of sweet vapor 
into the air until the little 
slab house was almost hidden 
in wreaths of white smoke. 
Early morning found the farmer folk astir with the 
promise of a good “sap day.’ From the grove of 
hemlocks back of the sugar bush came the familiar 
“Caw, caw,” of the crows. They, too, had a promise 
of something good, for across the meadow from the 
barns came the glad news that food in plenty was 
awaiting them. Soon a dark speck could be seen in 
the sky in the direction of the hemlock grove, then 
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