Republican news item. [volume] (Laport, Pa.) 1896-19??, 1898-01-13
! By The Doctors Order.


"Hop- p-picking," said young Durell,
as he took a rosy August apple from
his pocket, and fed it leisurely to the
beautiful horse against which he
leaned. ''Why, yes, it is a rather ro-
mantle business, if you look upon it
from romantic point of view. You're
an artist, eh? Come to sketch our
little bits of romantic scenery? But
there's nothing particularly pictur-
esque about our hop fields. just sun
shine and the gold-green of the clus-
ters, and the curling tendrils reaching
out for something to grasp at, and the
air so blue and clear that one can
almost see the straight lines of the
sunshine. OF course, it looks pretty
to me, for I was born and brought up
upon it; but-excuse mel can't see
what there is specially worthy of an
artists pencil.
''Do you see those long perspec-
tives of green alleys" said he; with
figures running in ind out, and the
old woman sitting a/nong the fragrant
heaps, with the sCIrlet cloak, and two
little toddles at ner 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 mill
boards and color boxes, set up an i'm
promptu easel, and began digently to
paint.
Squire Durell's son looked on with
an amused smile. To him, the ma
chinery of the great hop farm was the
real business of life. Artists and such
like were merely pleasure seekers who
disported 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. Peo-
pie 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 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 a cottage, farmhouse garret,
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 neighbor-
hood? No? Ny 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 beauti-
full satin-skinned white horse following
like docile kitten at his heels.
Hugh" he said to O servant who
had come down with hamper from
the house, stake cup of 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, Hugh'
"Sir?"
Did you carry the sardine sand
wiches and the basket of apricots and
the fresh milk to the young girl in
black?''
The man nodded
''She didn't want to take them, Mr..
Durell," said he. ''She was all for
calling me back, but I minded your
order, sir, and made off as fast as I
could, pretending not to hear
Durell smiled.
''That's right" and don't forget the
cold meat and slices of new bread for
old Dunstable. He grows weaker
and weaker every day, and there was
nothing but the heel of a loaf and a
black-cheese rind in his dinner basket,
for saw it myself"
"It's 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 niente of the noon intermis-
sion, and finally came into the great,
cool room where the scent of cheese
making filed the air and the muslin
curtains huttered to and fro in the
breeze.
The squire himself sat there, equity
but content. Iced tea and cold chicken
were on the table; forced dollhouse
peaches scented the atmosphere; a
plate of deviled tongue, with curry
sauce, supplied the fiery element, and
delicate cutlets, Dreaded and fried in
egg; were brought in. The old gentle
mans face frightened at the sight OF
his son.