Chapter LXVI

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And onc't, I mind, in airly Spring,
and tappin' sugar-trees,
Doc made a dad-burn little thing
to sharpen _spiles_ with--these-
Here wood'-spouts 'at the peth's punched out,
and driv' in where they bore
The auger-holes. He sharpened 'bout
_a million_ spiles er more!