The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1892-10-14
MARY RAYENEL.

lul Mullt uOISC hAltOA hO iOolChs
''Why, yes, it is rather a romantic
business, II you look upon it from a
romantic point of view. You're an artist,
ell? Come to sketch our little bits of
romantic scenery? But there's nothing
particularly picturesque about our hop
| fields. Just sunshine, and the golden
green of the clusters, and the curling
tendrils reaching out for something to
grasp at, and the air so blue clear that
one can almost see the straight lines of
the sunshine. OF course it looks pretty
to me, for was born and brought up in
it; but-excuse mel can't see what
there is specially worthy of an artists
pencill"
Mr. Raymond smiled.
"Do you see those long perspectives
of green alleys" said he; with figures
running in and out, and the old woman
sitting among the fragrant heaps, with
the scarlet cloak, and two little toddlers
at he feet? And yonder feeble, bent old
man, with water-cans on his shoulders?
Why, there are hundred bits of genre
here TO say nothing of the background"
And Raymond took out his millboards
and color boxes, set up an impromptu
easel, and began diligently to paint
Squire Durells son looked on with an
amused smile. To him, the machinery
of the great hop farm was the real
business of life. Artists and such like
were merely pleasure seekers who dis
ported themselves airily on the outskirts
of creation.
'You will find some very pretty faces
here" said Durell, ''if 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
object to turning an honest penny, young
people who come here for the frOlc 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 a cottage, afarmhouse garrett,
nor even barn untenanted. There are
tents, white sprinkle of them, down in
the meadow by the vines, where people
sleep at nights. You can see them from
here. You are staying in this part of
the neighborhood? No? My father will
be very glad to see you up at the house,
if you will honorus by becoming our
guest tonight.
And raising his light straw hat, Daniel
Durell went his way, the beautiful,
satin skinned white horse following, like
docile kitten at his heels.
"Hugh," he said to servant who had
come down with hamper from the
house, take cup of hot coffee and two
or three of these white rolls, with my
compliments to that gentleman in the
white linen coat who is sketching under
the trees. And, Hughp'
"Sir?"
Did you carry the sardine sandwiches,
and the basket of apricots, and the fresh
milk, to the young girl in black?'
The man nodded.
''She didn't want to take em, Mr..
Durell," said he. "She was all for call
ing me back, but minded your order,
sir, and made off as fast as could, pre-
tending not to hear.
Durell smiled.
forget the cold meat and slices of new
weaker and weaker every day, and there
was nothing but the heel of loaf and
black cheese rind in his dinner basket,
for saw it myself"
ITS all right, sir" said Hugh.
And then Durell, going up to the great
house shrewdly noticed all the hop
pickers as they sat and lay around,
under the shadow of the vines, in the
dolce far peinSe of the noon intermission,
and finally came into the great, cool
room where the scent of cheese making
filled the air, and the muslin curtains
flutteTed to and trO in the breeze.
The Squire himself sat there, equity
but content. Iced claret and cold chicken
were on the table; forced hot house
peaches scented the atmosphere; a plate
of deviled tongue, with curry sauce, sup
pied the fiery element; 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.
at 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 wish
you'd bring wife home to the old
place. She would be company for me
when you are gone. Why don't you
think of it, my lad?"
81 have been thinking of it, father"
said the Squirrels son. "But what would
you say, sir, if l were to marry poor
grip
The Squire set down his glass of iced
claret. Evidently this was entirely new
view of the matter.
"a poor girl, Daniel?',
Eyes, but good girl, father, and as
sweet and lovely as yonder half opened |
rose bud. You will perhaps laugh at |
me-" he adeed, ''but 1 have lost my heart |
to one of our hop pickers."
Daniel"
''HeT name is Mary Ravenel, sir. l |
never saw her before this season. She is !
picking hops with her aunt, or some |
elde.ly relative-a pale, fragile looking
girl, but as beautiful as a dream. And |
love her."
The old Squire nodded his head.
II can trust you, my son." he said,
land whoever you choose to bring here
will be as welcome as the flowers in |
May"
While all this time the artist, strolling
idly along to observe the various groups, |
came upon pale faced girl in black-a |
girl with large, melting, wine brown
eyes, straight, pure features, and soft |
dark hair, overhanging her forehead like |
4 mist of jet.
miss Ravenel!'' he cried, in tone of |
utter amazement. @
Eyes, Miss Ravenel,'" she smiled |
back. "YOu are astOnished to see me |
here. But the doctor declared that hop |
picking would be the very thing for me.
So Aunt Verna brought me, and here we
ire. And am really accomplishing
wonders in the hop picking line! Sit