The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1890-08-20
The Pretty Hop-Picker.
BY AMY RANDOLPH.

"Hop.picking9" said young Durell, as
he took rosy August apple from his
pocket and fed it leisurely to the bcauti-
full white horse against which he leaned.
NWhy, yes, it is rather romantic bust
ness, if you look upon it from romantic
point of view. You're an artist, eh2
Come to sketch our little bits of rustic
scenery3 But there's nothing particular
ly picturesque about our hop-ields. Just
sunshine, and the gold-green of the clus-
tiers, and the curling tendrils reaching
cut for something to grasp at, and the
sir so blue and clear that one can almost
see the straight lines of the sunshine.
Of course, it looks pretty to me, for I
excuse mel can't see what there is
specially worthy of an artists pencil2"
! Mr. Raymond smiled.
!: "Do you see those long perspectives of
green alleys" said he; "with the figures
running in and outa And the old woman
sitting among the fragrant heaps, with
the scarlet cloak, and the two little tod
dlcrs at her feet2 And yonder feeble,
bent old man, with water-cans on his
shoulders2 Why, there are hundred
bits of geure here, to say nothing of the
background"
And Raymond took out his mill
boards and color boxes, set up an i'm
promptu easel, and began diligently to
paint.
Squire Durell's son looked on with an
amused smile. To him, the machinery
of the great hop-farm was the real busi-
ness of life. Artists and such like were
merely pleasure seekers who disported
themselves airiIy along the outskirts of
creation.
i. "You will find some very pretty faces
here" said Durell, elf you care for
sketching that sort of thing. People
come here from all parts of the country,
in hop-picking time. Gypsies, tramps,
respectable poor workers who don't OBJ
ject to turning an honest penny, young
people who come here for the frolic of
the thing, and poor old wretches who
think that every season will be their last.
It's healthy, the doctors say. At all
events, it's profitable. In hop-season,
there isn't cottage, q farmhouse gar
ret, nor even q barn untenanted. There
are tents, white sprinkle of them, down
in the meadow by the vines, where peo-
pie sleep at nights. You can see them
from here. You are staying in this part
of the neighborhood2 No2 My father
will be very glad to see you, up at the
house, if you will honor Us by becoming
our guest tonight"
And raising his light straw hat, Daniel
Durell went his way, the beautiful, satin
skinned white horse following, like a
docile kitten, at his heels.
"Hugh," he said, to servant who had
just come down with hamper from the
house, stake a cup Of hot coffee and two
or three of these white rolls, with my
compliments, to that gentleman in the
linen coat who is sketching under the
trees. And Hugh!"
"Sir2"
"Did you carry the sardine sandwiches
and the basket of apricots and tho fresh
milk to the young girl in blacks"
The man nodded.
"She didn't want to take 'em, Mr..
Daniel said he. "She was all for call
ing me back. But I minded your order,
sir, and made off as fast as I could, pre-
tending not to hear"
Durell smiled. "That's right" said
he. "And don't forget the cold meat
and slices of new bread for old Dun
stable. He grows fecbler and feeblcr
every day, and there was nothing but
the heel of loaf and o black cheese
rind in his dinner basket for I saw it
myself"
"It's all right, sir, said Hugh.
And then Durell, going to the Great
House, shrcwdly noting all the hop.
pickers as they sat and lay around,
under the shadow of the vines, in the
dolce far nientc of tho noon intermission,
finally came into the great, cool room,
where the scent of cheese-makinS filled
the air, aid the muslin curtains futtered
to and fro in the breeze.
The squire himself sat there, gouty,
but content. Iced tea and cold chicken
were on the table; forced hot-house
peaches scented the atmosphere; a plate
of devilcd tongue, with curry sauce,
supplied the fiery clement, and delicate
outlets, Dreaded and fried in egg, were
brought in, hot and hot. The old gentle
mans face frightened at the sight Of his
son.
"It has seemed a long day without
you, my boy" said he. "sit down; sit
down. Do you know, Daniel, I've been
thinking all the morning that I wish
you'd bring wife homo to the old
place2 She could be company for inc
when you. are gone. Why don't you
think of it, my lad9'
"I have been thinking Of it, father,
said the squire's son. "But what would
you say, sir, if I were to marry poor
girla"
The squire set down his iced tea.