The Tupelo journal., 1903-01-02

&c AY, Mollie," said Nolan. in an
~ off-hand manner, what's that
fellow III the leggings dom up here?"
The sun had passed the meridian,
and the shadows were beginning to
fall on Nolan's side. The hop-field
code of courtesy demands that when
a man is picking with a lady he
give her always the shady side. But
Nolan, in his perturbation of mind,
forgot his
"Nothin'," came indifferently from
Mollie, feeling the August rays pelt-
ing down upon her head, and remem-
boring the thoughtfulness of the fell
low in the leggings in pulling the
fullest vines down on her side.
Say, Mollie," asked Nolan. per-
suasively, after a half-hour's silence,
during which time several couples
might have the benefit of the shade,
what was he hangin' round you all
mornin' for?"
"Nothin'!" The black eyes were
stubbornly glued to their work, while
beads of perspiration stood out on
the round, tanned cheeks.
Thereafter, vine after vine was
reached aqd< ripped in oppressive 81
ience. AxSS 9Th, after having deci-
ded to adopt a ours of moody ST
lence, which should break the
naughty spirit of this girl, and make
her hang upon his slightest word, No
Ian heard himself say, before he
knew it, in tender, coaXing tones:
Say, Mollie, what was he talkin' to
you about, anyway"
"Nothin'!!" MolIie's chin went in
to the air and her lips snapped to-
gether like the blades of a jack
knife. The beads of ~perspiration had
grown into rivulets that trickled from
nose to chin, and splashed into the
basket. The remainder of the row
was picked in silence. The foreman
of the field rode by several times,
and noticed gratefully there was less
talking and more work being lone be-
tween the two than usual, and when
at last the shadows grew SO long it
did not matter which side of the row
she was on, and the sun began to red
den behind a bank of smoke and dust,
the joyful sound of the quitting bell
pealed over the fields.
Arms just lifted to reach a vine.
hands in the act of stripping a
branch, fingers just crooked to pick
a last hop, stopped and fell empty at
the sound of that first tap. The I'M
happy Nolan could not stop his
thoughts so quickly, nor resist a last
appealing. Say, Mollie, what's the
matter with you, anyway"
But the maid only threw a defiant
"Nothin'!" over her shoulder as she
was joined at the end of the row by
a tall fellow in leggings. The black
eyes lost their defiance, the lips rip
pied into smiles as she pushed her
sun-bonnet back and looked up into
the laughing face under the SOM
brero.
"Great place, isn't it?" the tall fell
low said, half to himself, as he
watched the pickers filing by-China-
men, Indians, Japs, and whites of
every brand, and all sorts and condi-
tions. There vas the Objectionable
element of 'hobos," of course, in
plentitude, but the majority of the
pickers were the men who, after har-
vesting their own meagre little hay
crops, packed their wagons, loaded
in their families, whistled to their
dogs and started off for a three or
four weeks camp in the hop7fields.
With these families it is a regular
institution, and the one interesting
occasion of the year. Here new ac-
ouaintances are made, foot-hill gos-
sip exchanged for tule district scan
dals. firtations and romances spring
up. flourish, and die, with the hops,
and most of the back-country bellies
date their social debut from the Sat
urday night dances.
Mollie stole a one-sided glance at
the fellow in the l%eggings, and took
in every detail as his eyes followed
the crowd. She held her head just a
trife higher than usual when famil-
lar faces looked up and saw her chat
ting with this stylish-looking fellow
in the hHiChCio. LII 1dSc,
when some of the Coon Creek friends
came along, she found it inconven-
lent to look their way, for she felt
that in refined society their Hello
Moli' would not be considered good
form.
"How long have you worked here?"
the tall fellow asked her, shortening
his stride to fall in with her little
trip.
Mollie, delighted to be called upon
for information, gurgled out every
thing she knew about the hop-fields;
the advantage of being paid by the
piece instead of the. day, the amount
the average picker could make a day,
the weighing in the baskets, the pro-
cessing in the kiln, the pressing and
baling and the joys of the dance given
every Saturday night. Adding, for
she could scarcely believe this dis
finguished-looking parsonage could