you running around, doing all this squeezing?" "Naw. The old lady helps me." "What!" Toffee looked horrified. "You mean she's mixed up in this squeezing business too!" "Sure. Her and the whole family." "Oh, my gosh!" Toffee moaned. "This is too much. I suppose it shows a nice enterprising spirit on the part of you and your family, but isn't it all a little hard to get used to?" The old man shook his head. "Don't know why it should be," he mused. "You city people sure do get some strange notions in your heads." "We don't hold a candle to you country people," Toffee retorted. "But I suppose, being up here alone and all, squeezings do begin to take on a certain importance after a while." "That's right," the old man agreed. "They're mighty comfortin' on a cold night. Mighty nice when everyone's scrouged up around the fire." "Scrouged up?" Toffee asked timidly. "You mean you have to be scrouged up for these squeezings?" Marc suddenly appeared at the opposite window, wiping his hands on a rag with an air of finality. He regarded the old man mildly. "What can I do for you, old timer?" he asked. "For heaven's sake!" Toffee cried imploringly. "Don't ask him!" "What?" Marc stared at her questioningly. "The old boy's as daffy as a snowball in July," Toffee whispered. "He's wild on the idea of going around squeezing people. He claims it's more darned fun. Says he has some sort of new technique or something where people get all scrouged up, whatever that means. He started harping about it the minute he got his nose out of those bushes. It's the worst thing I've ever listened to." "I saw you folks stopped down here," the old man put in, "and I thought you might like some real mountain squeezin's. How about it, mister?" "You see!" Toffee cried. "He's off on it again. Him and his squeezings! It's likely that if I have to listen to any more about either of them I'll be a gibbering idiot." The old man looked distressed. "I think there's somethin' serious wrong with that gal," he told Marc regretfully. "I didn't want to tell