64 DANVIS FARM LIFE 



the fireplace, whose chimney was the wide air, and 

 every veering puff of wind would encloud the red- 

 shirted sugar-maker in the smoke of his fire and 

 the steam of his kettle. Kettle, fireplace, and pon- 

 derous crane had no roofing but the overbranch- 

 ing trees and the sky above them; the only shelter 

 of the sugar-makers from rain and "sugar snows" 

 was a little shanty as rude as an Indian wigwam 

 in construction and furniture. 



The woodpecker sounds his rattling drum-call; 

 the partridge beats his muffled roll; flocks of 

 blackbirds gurgle a liquid song, and the hyla tunes 

 his shrill pipe, while advancing Spring keeps step 

 to their music, more and more pervading all na- 

 ture with her soft, mysterious presence. 



In the woods the snow has shrunk to the cold 

 shelter of the ledges, and the arbutus begins to 

 blossom half-unseen among its dull green and 

 russet leaves, and liverwort flowers dot the sunny 

 slopes with tufts of white, and pink, and blue. 



Sap-flow and sugar-making slacken, so that a 

 neighbor finds time to visit another at his sugar- 

 works, and asks, "Have you heard the frogs?" 

 Only one "run" of sap after the frogs peep is the 

 traditional rule. So the frogs having peeped, the 

 last run comes and sugar-making ends. 



A wholesome fragrance is wafted to you on the 

 damp wind, like and yet unlike the earth-smell 

 which precedes a shower the subtile blending of 



