sun was bright now and cast a sharp shadow.  Philip feasted his eyes on the richness of the green leaves.  The hops were yellowing, and to him they had the beauty and the passion which poets in Sicily have found in the purple grape.  As they walked along Philip felt himself overwhelmed by the rich luxuriance.  A sweet scent arose from the fat Kentish soil, and the fitful September breeze was heavy with the goodly perfume of the hops.  Athelstan felt the exhilaration instinctively, for he lifted up his voice and sang; it was the cracked voice of the boy of fifteen, and Sally turned round.

“You be quiet, Athelstan, or we shall have a thunderstorm.”

In a moment they heard the hum of voices, and in a moment more came upon the pickers.  They were all hard at work, talking and laughing as they picked.  They sat on chairs, on stools, on boxes, with their baskets by their sides, and some stood by the bin throwing the hops they picked straight into it.  There were a lot of children about and a good many babies, some in makeshift cradles, some tucked up in a rug on the soft brown dry earth.  The children picked a little and played a great deal.  The women worked busily, they had been pickers from childhood, and they could pick twice as fast as foreigners from London.  They boasted about the number of bushels they had picked in a day, but they complained you could not make money now as in former times:  then they paid you a shilling for five bushels, but now the rate was eight and even nine bushels to the shilling.  In the old days a good picker could earn enough in the season to keep her for the rest of the year, but now there was nothing in it; you got a holiday for nothing, and that was about all.  Mrs. Hill had bought herself a pianner out of what she made picking, so she said, but she was very near, one wouldn’t like to be near like that, and most people thought it was only what she said, if the truth was known perhaps it would be found that she had put a bit of money from the savings bank towards it.

The hoppers were divided into bin companies of ten pickers, not counting children, and Athelny loudly boasted of the day when he would have a company consisting entirely of his own family.  Each company had a bin-man, whose duty it was to supply it with strings of hops at their bins (the bin was a large sack on a wooden frame, about seven feet high, and long rows of them were placed between the rows of hops;) and it was to this position that Athelny aspired when his family was old enough to form a company.  Meanwhile he worked rather by encouraging others than by exertions of his own.  He sauntered up to Mrs. Athelny, who had been busy for half an hour and had already emptied a basket into the bin, and with his cigarette between his lips began to pick.  He asserted that he was going to pick more than anyone that day, but mother; of course no one could pick so much as mother; that reminded him of the trials which Aphrodite put upon the curious Psyche, and he began