Its newness did not deter the boys from helping themselves to big swigs from the jug, smoothing out their wry faces with draughts of sugar water. Cousin Wilson refused to participate as he busied himself with his work. The sight of a tin cup made Alfred fearful that he would spill his sugar. He also declined. After the custom that had prevailed in the tavern cellar, the tin cup went round and round, the result was the same or nearly so as at the tavern. Some sang, others danced, one or two slept, some wanted to fight. Alfred attempted to pour melody on the troubled revellers but the only effect of his song was to encourage Ben Paul to knock the bottom out of a new tin pail endeavoring to keep time to the song as he had seen Alfred do with the tambourine. Cousin John, unnoticed by Cousin Wilson, was chief among those who passed the tin cup around. John was of a friendly disposition and, not to be rude to his guests, sent the cup around often. Several of the boys retired into the shadows of the trees just beyond the glare of the furnace fire to regret their mixing corn and sugar. [Illustration: The Night at the Sugar Camp] Wilson plainly informed John that this thing had gone far enough. It was John's idea of courtesy, or rather his confused notion, that a host's guests should be permitted to conduct themselves as best suited their pleasure. Several of them wanted to fight. John said, "All right, let them fight." Wilson interfered. John stepped out of the circle and invited any one or all present to come out. "Any of you excepting Alfred, he's all right. I can lick any of you with one hand tied behind my back," and John spat on both hands. "Come out yer," he pleadingly invited Wilson, "or anyone excepting Alfred." John, when he invited any or all of the others out, had evidently forgotten his courtesy to his guests or probably he desired to further increase their pleasure. Perhaps that was the way he reasoned it, as several had declared they would rather fight than eat. John did not wish them to go home feeling they had missed anything. As a last request, John just pleaded with Wilson to step out. He seemed more anxious to have Wilson tackle him than any other. As a last declaration of what he wouldn't sacrifice to have Wilson step out, he concluded as he slapped his hands together: "Step out, ole feller, just step out yer. Will you? I'll fight you anyway, I'll fight you now. Come on; I don't care a dam if I have my Sunday pants on, I'll fight you anyhow." The shouts of the boys could be heard re-echoing up and down the hollows as they wended their ways homeward. The moon had gone down, the night was darkened; it was nearly dawn. The fire had gone down in the furnace, the steam ceased to rise from the kettles, the hoot of the old night owl, after the scenes of the night, made it seem even more quiet.