uld not persuade himself that she was
a woman; because he had known her as a flapper, he could not help looking
upon her as a child still; yet the number of her admirers showed that she
was a child no longer; and though they had only been down a few days one
of Sally's cousins was already so attentive that she had to endure a lot
of chaffing. His name was Peter Gann, and he was the son of Mrs. Athelny's
sister, who had married a farmer near Ferne. Everyone knew why he found it
necessary to walk through the hop-field every day.

A call-off by the sounding of a horn was made for breakfast at eight, and
though Mrs. Athelny told them they had not deserved it, they ate it very
heartily. They set to work again and worked till twelve, when the horn
sounded once more for dinner. At intervals the measurer went his round
from bin to bin, accompanied by the booker, who entered first in his own
book and then in the hopper's the number of bushels picked. As each bin
was filled it was measured out in bushel baskets into a huge bag called a
poke; and this the measurer and the pole-puller carried off between them
and put on the waggon. Athelny came back now and then with stories of how
much Mrs. Heath or Mrs. Jones had picked, and he conjured his family to
beat her: he was always wanting to make records, and sometimes in his
enthusiasm picked steadily for an hour. His chief amusement in it,
however, was that it showed the beauty of his graceful hands, of which he
was excessively proud. He spent much time manicuring them. He told Philip,
as he stretched out his tapering fingers, that the Spanish grandees had
always slept in oiled gloves to preserve their whiteness. The hand that
wrung the throat of Europe, he remarked dramatically, was as shapely and
exquisite as a woman's; and he looked at his own, as he delicately picked
the hops, and sighed with self-satisfaction. When he grew tired of this he
rolled himself a cigarette and discoursed to Philip of art and literature.
In the afternoon it grew very hot. Work did not proceed so actively and
conversation halted. The incessant chatter of the morning dwindled now to
desultory remarks. Tiny beads of sweat stood on Sally's upper lip, and as
she worked her lips were slightly parted. She was like a rosebud bursting
into flower.

Calling-off time depended on the state of the oast-house. Sometimes it was
filled early, and as many hops had been picked by three or four as could
be dried during the