“There’s one thing one can say for you, Athelny,” said his wife, “you do enjoy your food and no mistake!”

“Cooked by your hand, my Betty,” he said, stretching out an eloquent forefinger.

Philip felt himself very comfortable.  He looked happily at the line of fires, with people grouped about them, and the colour of the flames against the night; at the end of the meadow was a line of great elms, and above the starry sky.  The children talked and laughed, and Athelny, a child among them, made them roar by his tricks and fancies.

“They think a rare lot of Athelny down here,” said his wife.  “Why, Mrs. Bridges said to me, I don’t know what we should do without Mr. Athelny now, she said.  He’s always up to something, he’s more like a schoolboy than the father of a family.”

Sally sat in silence, but she attended to Philip’s wants in a thoughtful fashion that charmed him.  It was pleasant to have her beside him, and now and then he glanced at her sunburned, healthy face.  Once he caught her eyes, and she smiled quietly.  When supper was over Jane and a small brother were sent down to a brook that ran at the bottom of the meadow to fetch a pail of water for washing up.

“You children, show your Uncle Philip where we sleep, and then you must be thinking of going to bed.”

Small hands seized Philip, and he was dragged towards the hut.  He went in and struck a match.  There was no furniture in it; and beside a tin box, in which clothes were kept, there was nothing but the beds; there were three of them, one against each wall.  Athelny followed Philip in and showed them proudly.

“That’s the stuff to sleep on,” he cried.  “None of your spring-mattresses and swansdown.  I never sleep so soundly anywhere as here.  You will sleep between sheets.  My dear fellow, I pity you from the bottom of my soul.”

The beds consisted of a thick layer of hopvine, on the top of which was a coating of straw, and this was covered with a blanket.  After a day in the open air, with the aromatic scent of the hops all round them, the happy pickers slept like tops.  By nine o’clock all was quiet in the meadow and everyone in bed but one or two men who still lingered in the public-house and would not come back till it was closed at ten.  Athelny walked there with Philip.  But before he went Mrs. Athelny said to him: 

“We breakfast about a quarter to six, but I daresay you won’t want to get up as early as that.  You see, we have to set to work at six.”

“Of course he must get up early,” cried Athelny, “and he must work like the rest of us.  He’s got to earn his board.  No work, no dinner, my lad.”

“The children go down to bathe before breakfast, and they can give you a call on their way back.  They pass The Jolly Sailor.”

“If they’ll wake me I’ll come and bathe with them,” said Philip.