GOING TO THE CIDER MILL.
It was a hot, scorching afternoon in late August. All the grown people
had retired to darkened rooms in the coolest depths of the great stone
house, in search of what comfort could be found. Even nurse had gone to
bed with a headache.
Mamma and auntie had tried to sit on the piazza, for a time, to watch
the little ones, but at last they, too, had to give it up.
“What are children made of?” sighed auntie. “How _can_ they want to stay
out doors, and broil in the sun, instead of playing in that great, cool
nursery? Shall we make them come in?”
But the children rebelled at the very idea.
“Why, it isn’t very hot,” said Cricket, in amazement. “Go in the house?
in the daytime? when it doesn’t rain?”
So mamma charged the older ones to take good care of the twins, and
impressed upon Cricket that she must not let Kenneth out of her sight,
“and don’t go away,” she finished.
“I doesn’t want anyone to take care of me,” objected Kenneth. “I sink
I’m a big man, mamma.”
But his mamma kissed him, and told him that even big men minded their
sisters; and then she and auntie betook themselves to the darkened
depths of their own rooms, and the coolness of cambric wrappers.
The hot hours went by. The children played contentedly for a time, then
they grew tired of everything, and a little cross, too, for they were
really worn out by the heat.
At last, the whole flock of six sat in a disconsolate row along the
broad stone fence that surrounded the grounds. Kenneth fretted for
something to do, and the twins teased each other.
“If only these children weren’t here,” said Eunice, somewhat crossly,
“we might do something.”
“There’s never any fun with children round,” answered Hilda, severely.
“I don’t like to be here anyway,” whined Zaidee. “I wish nurse would
come.”
“Hark!” exclaimed Cricket. “I hear something,” as the heavy rumble of
wheels was heard. The children watched the bend of the road with
interest. Anything that passed was of the greatest importance in the
present want of amusement.
“It’s Thomas, with the oxen,” cried Eunice. “Let’s make him take us,
too—oh, bother! these children.”
The heavy team lumbered in sight, drawn by big, black oxen. Old Thomas
was plodding along by their side, occasionally cracking the long lash of
his goad around their patient heads. Will and Archie stood in the cart.
Thomas stopped his team in the shade and wiped his forehead with his big
red bandanna.
“Ruther a warmish day,” he remarked, as if it were a new discovery.
“Where are you going?” chorused the children.
“Down to the cider mill,” answered Will, briskly. “Come, get up,
Tummas.”
“Oh, dear!” grumbled Eunice, “you boys can go everywhere, and have piles
of fun, and we’ve got to stay here and take care of _children_,”—with
withering scorn.
“Come along, all of you, if you want,” said Archie. “’Tisn’t far.”
“But Kenneth and the twins,” objected Cricket.
“Oh, let the kids come, too,” replied Archie, jumping down. The “kids”
hopped around in great glee at the idea.
“Mamma told us not to go away,” began Eunice, doubtfully; but Hilda, who
was less used to obedience, said quickly,—
“She only meant we were not to go away from the children, and we’re not.
We’re going to take them. Put them in, Arch,” and in she scrambled,
while Archie swung the little ones over the side of the cart.
“Come, Tummas, Tummas, get up the old gee-haws,” Will said, and off they
started. The three little ones sat in a jubilant row on the bottom of
the cart, and the girls balanced themselves on the empty cider barrels,
for there was no seat. Stolen fruits are always sweet, and their rather
uneasy consciences gave an additional zest to the fun.
“Gee, haw!” cried Thomas, cracking his lash around the yoke of the
plodding team. Down the road they pitched and lumbered, screaming with
merriment, across the bridge, under which the little winding Kayuna
babbled, and up the rather steep hill on the other side.
At last they reached the cider mill. What fun it was to run around the
apple-smelling place, and to suck, through a straw, the sickishly-sweet
juice dropping from the press.
Kenneth was lost once, to be discovered leaning over one of the low
vats, splashing his hands in the pale, yellow liquid with great
enjoyment. Of course he was soaked to his shoulders.
“You bad boy,” scolded Eunice, fishing him out. “Look at your dress!”
for it was drenched with cider and black with dirt. His face was grimy
and his curls sticky and odourous.
“My! won’t ’Liza scold!” commented Zaidee, very comfortingly.
Kenneth looked aggrieved, and put up his lip.
“You bringed me, Tritet; I’m hundery, and I want my supper.”
“Come, young uns,” shouted Thomas, outside, when he had filled his
barrels and loaded them up. “Git in with you now, or we won’t git to go
to-night.”
He hoisted Zaidee and Helen over the side, and gave Kenneth a tremendous
swing right over into the corner. The girls scrambled over the
tail-board.
“Now, where’s them rambunktious boys?” said Thomas, looking in the
sheds. “Hullo! there, you fellers—I’m a-goin’.”
The boys had gone to explore the gable of the mill, and were now seen
walking along the ridge-pole.
“You scallawags!” screamed Thomas, “come down here. I’m a-goin’
immijit!”
Archie sat down astride the gable.
“All right, old Thomas, we’ll be there.”
His pockets were stuffed with small green apples, as convenient missiles
for any chance mark. He took one out.
“Bet you, Will, that I can hit old Judge square between the horns,” he
said, taking aim. Straight away sped the bullet-like missile. It missed
its mark, however, and struck old Judge a stinging blow full on his
sensitive nose.
Old Judge’s temper was none of the best under any circumstances. He
threw up his head with a sudden bellow of pain and rage, and then,
jerking forward, to the surprise of everyone, he started off at a heavy
lumbering run, dragging with him his astonished yokefellow.
“Whoa, thar,” cried Thomas. “Whoa, ye fool-critters! whoa, thar!”
He might as well have called to the wind. The clumsy creatures had found
that they could run, and frightened by the noise of the heavy cart,
lumbering at their heels, by the shrieking children, and by the shouts
of the men, bewildered by their own revolt, and the unusual feeling of
liberty, they covered the ground at a swinging pace.
The cart rolled and pitched and the barrels lurched unsteadily. Then a
spigot, insecurely fastened, and loosened by the jolting, came out of
the bung-hole, followed by a spurting deluge of cider.