Of all that long season of snow, I remember most pleasantly the days that were sweetened with the sugar-making.

When the sun was lifting his course in 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 a hand to the washing of spouts and buckets.

Then came tapping time, in which I 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 heart-beat of the maples in the sounding bucket.

It was the reveille of spring.
Towering trees shook down the gathered storms of snow and felt for the sunlight.