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It
was dreadfully heavy and discouraging, and not even the strawberry
jam had power to redeem it. To tell the truth, it was not a
good omelet. It was hardly fit to eat. The jam came out to better
advantage in the sago I boiled, but there was too much of it. It
was only a fruit-jar full, but I never saw anything swell so. It
boiled out of the pot and into another and another, while I kept
pouring on water until nearly every jar in the house was full
of sago that stood around until moss grew on it with age. There
is much contrariness in cooking. When I tapped my maples with the
rest--there were two big trees in front of the house--and tried
to make sugar, I was prepared to see the sap boil away; but when
I had labored a whole day and burned half a cord of wood, and had
for my trouble half a tea-cupful of sugar, which made me sick into
the bargain, I concluded that that game was not worth the candle,
and gave up my plans of becoming a sugar-planter on a larger scale.
It was at this time that I made my first appearance on the lecture
platform.


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