Page 970 - of-human-bondage-

had no shirt on, and in a wide-brimmed soft hat, was frying
kippers over a fire of sticks. He was delighted with himself:
he looked every inch a brigand. As soon as he saw the party
he began to shout the witches’ chorus from Macbeth over
the odorous kippers.
‘You mustn’t dawdle over your breakfast or mother will
be angry,’ he said, when they came up.
And in a few minutes, Harold and Jane with pieces of
bread and butter in their hands, they sauntered through
the meadow into the hop-field. They were the last to leave.
A hop-garden was one of the sights connected with Phil-
ip’s boyhood and the oast-houses to him the most typical
feature of the Kentish scene. It was with no sense of strange-
ness, but as though he were at home, that Philip followed
Sally through the long lines of the hops. The sun was bright
now and cast a sharp shadow. Philip feasted his eyes on the
richness of the green leaves. The hops were yellowing, and
to him they had the beauty and the passion which poets in
Sicily have found in the purple grape. As they walked along
Philip felt himself overwhelmed by the rich luxuriance. A
sweet scent arose from the fat Kentish soil, and the fitful
September breeze was heavy with the goodly perfume of
the hops. Athelstan felt the exhilaration instinctively, for he
lifted up his voice and sang; it was the cracked voice of the
boy of fifteen, and Sally turned round.
‘You be quiet, Athelstan, or we shall have a thunder-
storm.’
In a moment they heard the hum of voices, and in a
moment more came upon the pickers. They were all hard