The Old Cider Pile

It’s hard to go to school again

     Along the country way,

And sit upon a polished seat

     Throughout an autumn day.

The room seems stuffy, work is slow,

     The world outside is bright,

And now is just the time of year

     When fish will start to bite.

But one bright spot each day appears,

     Beside the dusty way;

Bige Miller’s cider mill stands where

     We pass it every day.

And in the field beside the road,

     Heaped up, seems half a mile,

Just like a red and yellow hill,

     Is Bijah’s cider pile.

O, there are pippins piled up there,

     And Baldwins big and red;

And greenings, russets, jilly-flowers,

     Just like a flower bed.

A score of kinds so big and fair

     They make us fellows smile;

And we just load our pockets up

     From Bijah’s cider pile.

For Bijah’s told us we could have

     Just all we want to eat,

And we are eating all the time

     Because it’s Bijah’s treat.

And though we hate to go to school

     It’s really worth the while

Because each way we linger long

     Round Bijah’s cider pile.

Sept. 18, 1910

For Thur, Sept. 22