174 Windfalls 



exchange for his anxious moments when 

 vinegar is down in price and he deeper 

 down in spirits. I have a profound regard 

 for the old cider-mill. It is a quaint struc- 

 ture, with a primitive atmosphere about it 

 that dissolves the present and transmutes the 

 crude fafts of the moment to delightful day- 

 dreams. There is music, too, in the hum 

 of bees and angry buzzing of wasps that so 

 love to sip the lingering sweets of drying 

 heaps of pomace. When there is nobody 

 about, press, orchard, and old vinegar-sheds 

 all deserted, then I find them crowded. 

 Here, if anywhere, you can call back the 

 quaint characters that were one time the busy 

 men of the neighborhood. 



October now ; it is natural to stop at the 

 cider-press when passing by and test, with 

 a rye straw, the most recently filled barrels. 

 Luckily for me, the owner cannot charge for 

 an unmeasurable quantity, and my assurance 

 that the quality was good was his only recom- 

 pense. The cider, as such, was not ready 

 for market, and its owner had not yet turned 

 his attention to the pump. 



A little later the flicker's rattling cry and 

 the shrill chirp of a suspicious robin greeted 



