In a rural town near the sleepy heart of Maine, autumn was just beginning to exhibit her brightly colored clothing. The leaves of maples blushed to a brilliant crimson, sighed, and drifted slowly down to the chilled ground. Birds were flying south in great flocks, fat pumpkins were ripening in the fields, and the pride of the town, the apples, were turning rosy in their orchards, the nippy October wind bringing out the color in their cheeks. The orchards covered forty acres, and at the front of them stood a cider press and a little apple store. School children arrived from miles around to go...