framework, and a long, curved pine-trunk sweep fastened on top.
The mule was hitched to its lower end, while the short upper end swung free as a balance. Buzz stood under the sweep and fed sugar cane into the slowly grinding rollers.
"Git her goin'!'' yelled Buzz.
Birdie whacked the mule again.
Semina moved slowly. Round and round the cane mill she walked in an endless circle. The rollers, though well-greased with tallow, began a loud screak, scre-ak, scre--ak, which could be heard far and wide.
Mr. Boyer had sent word to all the neighbors that he was grinding cane. People began to drop in--the Tatums, the Cooks and others. The men went to the field where they cut the long cane stalks and hauled them in. They took turns feeding the stalks into the rollers. Cane pulp, called "pummy" fell to the ground at one side.
The pale green milky-looking cane juice poured out slowly into a barrel on the other side. Flies began to come, attracted by its sweetness. Like the flies, children and grown-ups came too, all eager to taste.
"I always put on ten pounds in grinding season," said Mrs. Tatum, a plump young woman with a hearty laugh.
She dipped a tin cup into the sudsy liquor and drained it dry. She filled it again for Lank, her son, and Latrelle, her daughter.
Other children crowded close, eager for drinks.
"Hit looks like ole dirty, soapy wash-water to me," said Shoestring Slater, frowning.
"But hit tastes sweet like sugar candy to me!" retorted Birdie. "Hey! Don't drink too much!" cried Mr. Boyer. "Or they won't be none left for your candy-pullin' this evenin'!"
"Candy pullin'! Candy pullin'!" The children danced with excitement.
"Yard-plays! We'll have yard-plays too!" they cried.
When she was sure that Semina was going in good form, Birdie ran back to the house. Already it was full of people. The Hardens and the Dorseys had come. The Marshes with Rofelia and the twins, Coy and Loy, were there. And Mrs. Slater with her baby and Essie and Zephy.
"Git out and play with the other young uns!" ordered Mrs. Slater. "Can't have you underfoot all day."
But the little girls were shy and refused to move.
"Come with me," said Birdie, smiling.
Birdie could not help thinking about the hog with its ears cut off, and the note on the porch. It seemed strange that the Slaters, who were the Boyers' worst enemies, should act like good friends and come to the cane grinding. But quarrels did not keep people away from frolics, she knew that. It was an unwritten law of the backwoods.
She found Dovey and took the three little girls to a shady spot under the big umbrella tree. She made play dollies out of towels for them. She brought sugar cane, peeled it down and gave them pieces to suck and chew. She promised them candy at the candy-pulling in the evening.
With a piece of sugar cane in her mouth, she ran back to the mill. Semina was still making her obedient rounds. The mule walked with her eyes closed as if she could go on forever. There was no need to whack her.
Two barrels had been filled with cane juice, and the syrup making had begun. Under the roof shelter near by, a big sixty-gallon kettle of the green liquid was bubbling away on top of the brick furnace. Shoestring, Lank and other boys brought up armfuls of pine wood to feed the fire, which glowed red from the open end and sent clouds of black smoke up the tall chimney.
Mrs. Tatum, very red in the face, had charge of the syrup- boiling. She stirred it constantly with a long-handled dipper to keep it from boiling over. Now and then she skimmed it, dipping the green foam off into a barrel at one side. This was saved, and when fermented, would be made into a sweetish- sour beer.
Gradually, the cane juice changed from green to a warm yellowish color with flecks of red. When bubbles appeared at the top, it was done. A cedar trough had been put up on blocks. Mrs. Tatum dipped the syrup out of the kettle into the trough, to allow it to cool.
Birdie and Shoestring and Olema Dorsey
The mule was hitched to its lower end, while the short upper end swung free as a balance. Buzz stood under the sweep and fed sugar cane into the slowly grinding rollers.
"Git her goin'!'' yelled Buzz.
Birdie whacked the mule again.
Semina moved slowly. Round and round the cane mill she walked in an endless circle. The rollers, though well-greased with tallow, began a loud screak, scre-ak, scre--ak, which could be heard far and wide.
Mr. Boyer had sent word to all the neighbors that he was grinding cane. People began to drop in--the Tatums, the Cooks and others. The men went to the field where they cut the long cane stalks and hauled them in. They took turns feeding the stalks into the rollers. Cane pulp, called "pummy" fell to the ground at one side.
The pale green milky-looking cane juice poured out slowly into a barrel on the other side. Flies began to come, attracted by its sweetness. Like the flies, children and grown-ups came too, all eager to taste.
"I always put on ten pounds in grinding season," said Mrs. Tatum, a plump young woman with a hearty laugh.
She dipped a tin cup into the sudsy liquor and drained it dry. She filled it again for Lank, her son, and Latrelle, her daughter.
Other children crowded close, eager for drinks.
"Hit looks like ole dirty, soapy wash-water to me," said Shoestring Slater, frowning.
"But hit tastes sweet like sugar candy to me!" retorted Birdie. "Hey! Don't drink too much!" cried Mr. Boyer. "Or they won't be none left for your candy-pullin' this evenin'!"
"Candy pullin'! Candy pullin'!" The children danced with excitement.
"Yard-plays! We'll have yard-plays too!" they cried.
When she was sure that Semina was going in good form, Birdie ran back to the house. Already it was full of people. The Hardens and the Dorseys had come. The Marshes with Rofelia and the twins, Coy and Loy, were there. And Mrs. Slater with her baby and Essie and Zephy.
"Git out and play with the other young uns!" ordered Mrs. Slater. "Can't have you underfoot all day."
But the little girls were shy and refused to move.
"Come with me," said Birdie, smiling.
Birdie could not help thinking about the hog with its ears cut off, and the note on the porch. It seemed strange that the Slaters, who were the Boyers' worst enemies, should act like good friends and come to the cane grinding. But quarrels did not keep people away from frolics, she knew that. It was an unwritten law of the backwoods.
She found Dovey and took the three little girls to a shady spot under the big umbrella tree. She made play dollies out of towels for them. She brought sugar cane, peeled it down and gave them pieces to suck and chew. She promised them candy at the candy-pulling in the evening.
With a piece of sugar cane in her mouth, she ran back to the mill. Semina was still making her obedient rounds. The mule walked with her eyes closed as if she could go on forever. There was no need to whack her.
Two barrels had been filled with cane juice, and the syrup making had begun. Under the roof shelter near by, a big sixty-gallon kettle of the green liquid was bubbling away on top of the brick furnace. Shoestring, Lank and other boys brought up armfuls of pine wood to feed the fire, which glowed red from the open end and sent clouds of black smoke up the tall chimney.
Mrs. Tatum, very red in the face, had charge of the syrup- boiling. She stirred it constantly with a long-handled dipper to keep it from boiling over. Now and then she skimmed it, dipping the green foam off into a barrel at one side. This was saved, and when fermented, would be made into a sweetish- sour beer.
Gradually, the cane juice changed from green to a warm yellowish color with flecks of red. When bubbles appeared at the top, it was done. A cedar trough had been put up on blocks. Mrs. Tatum dipped the syrup out of the kettle into the trough, to allow it to cool.
Birdie and Shoestring and Olema Dorsey
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