"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.