Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 9, 2025
What if some of these wildings are acrid and puckery, genuine verjuice, do they not still belong to the Pomaceae, which are uniformly innocent and kind to our race? I still begrudge them to the cider-mill. Perhaps they are not fairly ripe yet. No wonder that these small and high-colored apples are thought to make the best cider.
"And, consequently," said auntie, with a sly smile, "you go to the cider-mill when you are put in charge of the children, and get run away with by the oxen." Eunice got very red. "Well, that was a great while ago, auntie, when we were quite young," she said, with as much dignity as if the occurrence auntie referred to was half a dozen years ago, instead of one.
It would be a pleasant pastime to find suitable names for the hundred varieties which go to a single heap at the cider-mill. Would it not tax a man's invention, no one to be named after a man, and all in the lingua vernacula? Who shall stand godfather at the christening of the wild apples? It would exhaust the Latin and Greek languages, if they were used, and make the lingua vernacula flag.
Under the trees as the months went on there would rise heaps of the windfalls collected there to wait for the cider-mill. The mill was the property of two or three of the village folk, a small band of adventurers now grown old, who every autumn went round from farm to farm grinding the produce of the various orchards.
Out came Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin, Agamemnon, Elizabeth Eliza, and the little boys. Solomon John got off his horse all out of breath. "Where is the jug of cider?" asked Mrs. Peterkin. "It is at the cider-mill," said Solomon John. "At the mill!" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin.
Bobsey's dream of "millions of bushels" of nuts had not been realized, yet enough had been dried and stored away to satisfy even his eyes. Not far away an old cider-mill was running steadily, and we soon had the barrels of russet nectar in our cellar. Then came Saturday, and Merton and Junior were given one more day's outing in the mountains with their guns.
If I were a boy, I am not sure but I would rather drive the oxen than have a birthday. The proudest day of my life was one day when I rode on the neap of the cart, and drove the oxen, all alone, with a load of apples to the cider-mill. I was so little that it was a wonder that I did n't fall off, and get under the broad wheels.
There is plenty of work at the cider-mill or in boiling down the sweet cider over the bonfire that cheers the damp fall weather. In fact, his tasks are endless. Perhaps it is raining like suds. The sun for several weeks has reminded the hired man of a drop of hair-oil on a basin of water.
Nobody could suggest its origin until the cider was suspected, and, on enquiry, it was elicited that the previous year the stones of the cider-mill chase, which had become loosened by long use, were repaired with melted lead poured in between the joints. The malic acid of the apples had dissolved the lead, and it remained in solution in the cider.
Under the trees now stood a cider-mill and press, and upon the spot sheltered by the boughs were gathered Mr.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking