ace, and
without meeting a soul; neither did he hear the barking of the dog
again.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

SOMETHING IN THE HOPS.

The hops that year had been looking magnificent, and some of the growers
were chuckling as they thought of the number of hundredweight that would
go to the acre, while others took a prejudiced view of the case from a
dread of the plentifulness of the crop bringing them down to a state of
cheapness that would, when the cost of growing, picking, kilning, and
packing had been deducted, leave nothing to pay the rent.

Then a change had come--a rapid change. There had been a fortnight's
dry weather, and, as if by magic, the beautiful growths began to look
foul, black, and yellow.

It was very simple--a few tiny flies came and laid eggs: the eggs
hatched into little insects, and before many hours had elapsed these
little insects, without waiting to become flies, had children, and these
had children, and these had children as hard as ever they could, while
the mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers kept on increasing
until the vine-leaves became covered. These grew into hundreds,
hundreds into thousands and tens and hundreds of thousands, then
millions, and then into hundreds and thousands of millions, and then on
and on till billions and trillions, and all the other brain-devouring
lions covered the hop-grower's crops, threatening destruction to his
hopes.

Then out came the engine to attack the plague.

It was an old parish fire-engine that used to live beneath the bells in
the square tower of a church not many miles away. It had once been red;
and upon rare occasions, when a cottage or wheat-rick caught or was set
on fire and a glow gave warning, there would be a great deal of
shouting, the clerk's house was raced to for the keys, and then the old
engine was dragged out by its cross-handle, and a cheering crowd would
trundle it for miles to the scene of the fire, which was generally
expiring by the time it was reached. If the fire was not out, boys and
men dragged down the coils of hose and the suction-pipe, which was run
into a pond. Buckets were dipped, and water was poured down the
cylinders to moisten the suckers, and ran through, because the leathers
were all dried-up. Then the handles were seized and worked up and down,
making a good deal of noise, but no water began to squirt, which did not
matter (for the hose was all cracked, and would not have conveyed it);