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 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.”
“All right, sonny—thank you, thank you! Good-bye, lads; come again, and maybe some day I’ll give you the war cup!” called the soldier.
“That would be a relic!” exclaimed Harry. “And I guess father will give him Bill for nothing, for we always do what we can for old soldiers.”
“I never saw cider made before,” remarked Bert, “and I think it’s fun. I had a good time today.”
“Glad you did,” said John, “for vacation is slipping now and you want to enjoy it while it lasts.”
That evening at dinner the new cider was sampled, and everybody pronounced it very fine.
CHAPTER XXX
What the Well Contained
The next day everybody was out early.
“The men are going to clean the well,” Harry told the others, “and it’s lots of fun to see all the stuff they bring up.”
“Can we go?” Freddie asked.
“Nan will have to take charge of you and Flossie,” said Mrs. Bobbsey, “for wells are very dangerous, you know.”
This was arranged, and the little ones promised to do exactly as Nan told them.
The well to be cleaned was the big one at the corner of the road and the lane. From the well a number of families got their supply of water, and it being on the road many passersby also enjoyed from it a good cold drink.
“There they come,” called Bert, as two men dressed like divers came up the road.
They wore complete rubber suits, hip-boots, rubber coats, and rubber caps. Then they had some strange-looking machines, a windlass, a force pump, grappling irons, and other tools.
The boys gathered around the men—all interested, of course, in the work.
“Now keep back,” ordered Nan to the little ones. “You can see just as well from this big stone, and you will not be in any danger here.”
So Freddie and Flossie mounted the rock while the large boys got in closer to the well.
First the men removed the well shelter—the wooden house that covered the well. Then they put over the big hole a platform open in the center. Over this they set up the windlass, and then one of the men got in a big bucket.
“Oh, he’ll get drownded!” cried Freddie.
“No, he won’t,” said Flossie. “He’s a diver like’s in my picture book.”
“Is he, Nan?” asked the other little one.
“Yes, he is one kind of a diver,” the sister explained, “only he doesn’t have to wear that funny hat with air pipes in it like ocean divers wear.”
“But he’s away down in the water now,” persisted Freddie. “Maybe he’s dead.”
“See, there he is up again,” said Nan, as the man in the bucket stepped out on the platform over the well.
“He just went down to see how deep the water was,” Bert called over. “Now they are going to pump it out.”
The strange-looking pump, with great long pipes was now sunk into the well, and soon a strong stream of water was flowing from the spout.
“Oh, let’s sail boats!” exclaimed Freddie, and then all the bits of clean sticks and boards around were turned into boats by Flossie and Freddie. As the water had a good clear sweep down the hill the boats went along splendidly, and the little folks had a very fine time of it indeed.
“Don’t fall in,” called Nan. “Freddie, look out for that deep hole in the gutter, where the tree fell down in the big flood.”
But for once Freddie managed to save himself, while Flossie took no risk at all, but walked past that part of the “river” without guiding her “steamboat.”
Presently the water in the “river” became weaker and weaker, until only the smallest stream made its way along.
“We can’t sail boats in mud,” declared Freddie with some impatience. “Let’s go back and see what they’re doing at the well.”
Now the big pump had been removed and the man was going down in the bucket again.
“We lost lots of things in