Freddie kissed Sandy good-bye. It was not the kind of a caress that girls give, but the two little fellows said good-bye, kissed each other very quickly, then looked down at the ground in a brave effort not to cry.
Mrs. Bobbsey gave Sandy a real mother’s love kiss, and he said:
“Oh, I’m comin’ beck—to-morrow. I won’t stay in the city. I’ll just run away and come back.”
So Sandy was gone to another home, and we hope he will grow to be as fine a boy as he has been a loving child.
“How lonely it seems,” said Nan that afternoon. “Sandy was so jolly.”
Freddie followed John all over the place, and could not find anything worth doing. Even Dinah sniffed a little when she fed the kittens and didn’t have “dat little buttercup around to tease dem.”
“Well,” said Uncle Daniel next day, “we are going to have a very poor crop of apples this year, so I think we had better have some cider made from the early fruit. Harry and Bert, you can help John if you like, and take a load of apples to the cider mill today to be ground.”
The boys willingly agreed to help John, for they liked that sort of work, especially Bert, to whom it was new.
“We’ll take the red astrachans and sheepnoses today,” John said. “Those trees over there are loaded, you see. Then there are the orange apples in the next row; they make good cider.”
The early apples were very plentiful, and it took scarcely any time to make up a load and start off for the cider mill.
“Old Bennett who runs the mill is an odd chap,” Harry told Bert going over; “he’s a soldier, and he’ll be sure to quiz you on history.”
“I like old soldiers,” Bert declared; “if they do talk a lot, they’ve got a lot to talk about.”
John said that was true, and he agreed that old Ben Bennett was an interesting talker.
“Here we are,” said Harry, as they pulled up before a kind of barn. Old Ben sat outside on his wooden bench.
“Hello, Ben,” they called out together, “we’re bringing you work early this year.”
“So much the better,” said the old soldier; “There’s nothing like work to keep a fellow young.”
“Well, you see,” went on John, “we can’t count on any late apples this year, so, as we must have cider, we thought that we had better make hay while the sun shines.”
“How much have you got there?” asked Ben, looking over the load.
“About a barrel, I guess,” answered John “Could you run them through for us this morning?”
“Certainly, certainly!” replied the others. “Just haul them on, and we’ll set to work as quick as we did that morning at Harper’s Ferry. Who is this lad?” he asked, indicating Bert.
“My cousin from the city,” said Harry, “Bert’s his name.”
“Glad to see you, Bert, glad to see you!” and the old soldier shook hands warmly. “When they call you out, son, just tell them you knew Ben Bennett of the Sixth Massachusetts. And they’ll give you a good gun,” and he clapped Bert on the back as if he actually saw a war coming down the hill back of the cider mill.
It did not take long to unload the apples and get them inside.
“We’ll feed them in the hopper,” said John, “if you just get the sacks out, Ben.”
“All right, all right, my lad; you can fire the first volley if you’ve a mind to,” and Ben opened up the big cask that held the apples to be chopped. When a few bushels had been filled in by the boys John began to grind. He turned the big stick round and round, and this in turn set the wheel in motion that held the knives that chopped the apples.
“Where does the cider come from?” asked Bert, much interested.
“We haven’t come to that yet,” Harry replied; “they have to go through this hopper first.”
“Fine juicy apples,” remarked Ben. “Don’t know but it’s just as well to make cider now when you have a crop like this.”
“Father thought so,” Harry added, putting in the last scoop of sheepnoses. “If it turns to vinegar we can use it for pickles this fall.”
The next part of the process seemed very strange to Bert; the pulp or chopped apples were put in sacks like meal-bags, folded over so as to hold in the pulp. A number of the folded sacks were then placed in another machine “like a big layer cake,” Bert said, and by turning a screw a great press was brought down upon the soft apples.
“Now the boys can turn,” John suggested, and at this both Bert and Harry grabbed hold of the long handle that turned the press and started on a run around the machine.
“Oh, there she comes!” cried Bert, as the juice began to ooze out in the tub. “That’s cider, all right! I smell it.”
“Fine and sweet too,” declared Ben, seeing to it that the tub was well under the spout.
“But I don’t want you young fellows to do all my work.”
“Oh, this is fun,” spoke up Bert, as the color mounted to his cheeks from the exercise. A strong stream was pouring into the tub now, and the wholesome odor of good sweet cider filled the room.
“I think I’ll try to get a horse this fall when my next pension comes due,” said old Ben, “I’m a little stiff to run around with that handle like you young lads, and sometimes I’m full of rheumatism too.”
“Father said he would sell our Bill very cheap if he wasn’t put at hard work,” Harry said.
“We have had him so long we don’t want to see him put to a plow or anything heavy, but I should think this would be quite easy for him.”
“Just the thing for a worn-out war-horse like myself,” answered Ben, much interested. “Tell your father not to think of selling Bill till I get a chance to see him. I won’t have my pension money for two months yet, but I might make a deposit if any more work comes in.”
“Oh, that would be all right,” spoke up John. “Mr. Bobbsey would not be afraid to trust you.”
“There now!” exclaimed Ben; “I guess you’ve got all the juice out. John, you can fill it in your keg, I suppose, since you have been so good as to do all the rest. Will you try it, boys?”
“Yes, we would like to, Ben,” Harry replied.
“It’s a little warm to make cider in July,” and he wiped his face to cool off some.
Ben went to his homemade cupboard and brought out a tin cup.
“There’s a cup,” he said, “that I drank out of at Harper’s Ferry. I keep it in everyday use, so as not to lose sight of it.”
Bert took the old tin cup and regarded it reverently.
“Think
