the difference this useful invention
had made in their every-day work. However, this one night the
conservative brothers could take a mild revenge; and when their wives
were well on their way to Mrs. Thacher's they had assured each other
that, if the plaguey thing were to be carried to the Corners in the
morning to be exchanged or repaired, it would be as well to have it in
readiness, and had quickly taken down its pipes and lifted it as if it
were a feather to the neighboring woodshed. Then they hastily pried
away a fireboard which closed the great fireplace, and looked
smilingly upon the crane and its pothooks and the familiar iron dogs
which had been imprisoned there in darkness for many months. They
brought in the materials for an old-fashioned fire, backlog,
forestick, and crowsticks, and presently seated themselves before a
crackling blaze. Martin brought a tall, brown pitcher of cider from
the cellar and set two mugs beside it on the small table, and for some
little time they enjoyed themselves in silence, after which Jake
remarked that he didn't know but they'd got full enough of a fire for
such a mild night, but he wished his own stove and the new one too
could be dropped into the river for good and all.

They put the jug of cider between the andirons, and then, moved by a
common impulse, drew their chairs a little farther from the mounting
flames, before they quenched their thirst from the mugs.

"I call that pretty cider," said Martin; "'tis young yet, but it has
got some weight a'ready, and 'tis smooth. There's a sight o'
difference between good upland fruit and the sposhy apples that grows
in wet ground. An' I take it that the bar'l has an influence: some
bar'ls kind of wilt cider and some smarten it up, and keep it hearty.
Lord! what stuff some folks are willin' to set before ye! 'tain't wuth
the name o' cider, nor no better than the rensin's of a vinegar cask."

"And then there's weather too," agreed Mr. Jacob Dyer, "had ought to
be took into consideration. Git your apples just in the right
time--not too early to taste o' the tree, nor too late to taste o' the
ground, and just in the snap o' time as to ripeness', on a good sharp
day with the sun a-shining; have 'em into the press and what comes out
is _cider_. I think if we've had any fault in years past, 't was
puttin' off makin' a little too late. But I don't see as this could be
beat. I don't know's you feel like a pipe, but I believe I'll light
up,