“There’ll always be something to do, gal. If we lived till we finished up, the world ud be full of Methuselys, an’ no room for the young folks. Nobody finishes. They got to _break off_.” She shouldered her sack and started, pausing a rod away for one more barb. “You goin’ to gether yer sunflower-seed? I’ve hearn they eat ’em in Rooshia.” Aunt Janey was right: I had the uncomfortable habit of hanging on for a finish that the gods would never uncover. And what could I do about it? There was one answer--Serena. She could break off without a qualm. She could sing the doxology while doing it, and give the Amen a sprightly reverberation. Without daring to pause, I started off, stepping as briskly as Aunt Janey, but in the opposite direction. I would get Serena to come and clear away every sign of conservation, and I would walk on the mountains while she was doing it. If only I might find her in the disengaged period she would be sure to observe between fodder-pulling and sorghum-making! As I neared Len’s cabin the odor of boiling syrup told me I was too late. I arrived and looked drearily on the scene. A shouting boy was busily driving the oxen that turned the cane-mill, which was spouting with juice. More juice foamed in the boiler on the furnace. Len, his seven children, three neighbors, and their children, were officiating in various or the same parts. Serena was skimming the boiling syrup. All the country round acknowledged her as the queen of “lassy-makers.” She turned a heated face to me just long enough to say with the most cheerful of smiles: “They don’t give me time to make my beds.” I was turning away, when Len stopped me. “We’ve taken off one biler, an’ I put a few ’lasses for you in that jug. Reenie, git the jug!” “I don’t want them,” I said, near to tears, and trapped in the vernacular. Len was puzzled. “But you’re welcome to the ’lasses. I’ll bring ’em up to you.” “Not a spoonful, thank you, Len,” I called, already vanishing and hastening my steps unconsciously until I found myself running--running up-hill. I did not turn on the trail toward home, but went out to Three Pine Point, where one could see the river miles away, smooth, effortless, winding to some hidden land, safe and far from the malefic spirit of industry. I dropped to the brown pine-needles. Quickly the woods set their magical currents flowing, and that sensation as of smiling veins crept over me.