The Mystery of the Screech Owl by Gertrude Chandler Warner Page A

jeans and blue shirt.
    â€œWe’ve come to help,” Grandfather told her. “I’ve had some experience in making sugar and my grandchildren are good workers. I hope you can use us.”
    â€œHow kind of you!” she said. “With this snow, we need every pair of hands.”
    Grandfather was assigned to working with another man on an evaporator.
    Benny and Henry unloaded raw sap from the gathering tanks as the trucks pulled in. The sap was funneled through a tube that led directly into the hut and into another gathering tank.
    Jessie and Violet were assigned to help Marie-Louise grade syrup.
    â€œI will do the testing,” she told the girls. “You can paste labels on the bottles. The law requires us to mark the grade and color class of syrup on every container.”
    She poured syrup from a flat pan into bottles.
    â€œWhat a pretty color,” Violet remarked. “Like my amber crayon, only it’s see-through.”
    â€œ Out ,” Marie-Louise agreed, selecting a strip of preprinted labels that read CANADA #1, EXTRA LIGHT . “This grade and color is the most desirable. We were fortunate to make several high-quality batches this year.”
    She screwed on metal caps, then set each bottle on its side on a shelf. The containers were spaced far apart.
    â€œShouldn’t we turn them upright?” Jessie asked. “And put them closer together?”
    Marie-Louise shook her head. “The syrup is always poured hot into the containers. Placing each bottle on its side sterilizes the cap and neck. If the bottles are placed close together as they cool, the syrup has what we call ‘stack burn,’ an unpleasant aftertaste.”
    Violet wiped her forehead. It was quite warm in the sugar hut. “I never knew there was so much to learn about making syrup.”
    â€œWe will have demonstrations at the festival tomorrow,” said Marie-Louise. “But you are learning the best way—by doing!”
    While the girls pasted on labels, Marie-Louise left to get another pan of finished syrup.
    Suddenly one of the workers, who was passing the small window, looked out. His mouth formed a shocked O.
    â€œ Zut alors! ” he cried. “ L’homme qui habite dans la maison en arbre! ”
    Everyone except the Aldens stopped working and raced to the window. They all crowded around, pointing and remarking in rapid French.
    Henry wanted to see what all the fuss was about, too, but then he noticed an unattended evaporator.
    â€œBenny, nobody is watching that batch of syrup,” he said. “Grandfather is busy at his own evaporator. We’d better go over there.”
    The evaporator consisted of a metal pan with a propane-fueled stove beneath.
    Henry knew the pans had to be watched carefully. “The temperature can’t get too high or the whole batch will be ruined.”
    Benny looked at the thermometer. “It says 215. How high is it supposed to go?”
    â€œNo higher than 218 degrees,” Henry said. The syrup was nearly ready. All the workers were still clustered at the window, talking to one another excitedly.
    The mercury on the thermometer rose steadily: 216 … 217. Hot bubbles popped in the amber liquid. Another few seconds and the batch would be ruined!
    How can we get the workers’ attention ? Henry wondered.
    Then Benny exclaimed, “ Zut alors! ”
    Everyone at the window turned to stare at him.
    â€œThe syrup’s ready!” he said.
    At once, three workers lurched across the room and removed the covered pan from the stove.
    Marie-Louise came over with Jessie and Violet.
    â€œI didn’t know you could speak French,” she said, teasing Benny.
    â€œI just said what that man said,” Benny explained with a shrug. “But I don’t know what it means!”
    The Aldens helped until noon. By then it was clear the workers would finish the run before the festival.
    â€œSee you tomorrow,”