Part 32 (1/2)

”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 queer 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 of us drinking out of that cup,” reflected Bert. ”Why, it's a war relic!”

”How's the cider?” asked the old soldier.

”Couldn't be better,” said Harry. ”I guess the cup helps the flavor.”

This pleased old Ben, for the light of glory that comes to all veterans, whether private or general, shone in his eyes.

”Well, a soldier has two lives,” he declared. ”The one under fire and the other here,” tapping his head and meaning that the memories of battles made the other life.

The cider was ready now, and the Bobbseys prepared to leave.

”I'll tell father about Bill,” said Harry. ”I'm sure he will save him for you.”