y, 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 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