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the rows of hops;) and it was to this position that Athelny
aspired when his family was old enough to form a company.
Meanwhile he worked rather by encouraging others than by
exertions of his own. He sauntered up to Mrs. Athelny, who
had been busy for half an hour and had already emptied a
basket into the bin, and with his cigarette between his lips
began to pick. He asserted that he was going to pick more
than anyone that day, but mother; of course no one could
pick so much as mother; that reminded him of the trials
which Aphrodite put upon the curious Psyche, and he be-
gan to tell his children the story of her love for the unseen
bridegroom. He told it very well. It seemed to Philip, listen-
ing with a smile on his lips, that the old tale fitted in with the
scene. The sky was very blue now, and he thought it could
not be more lovely even in Greece. The children with their
fair hair and rosy cheeks, strong, healthy, and vivacious; the
delicate form of the hops; the challenging emerald of the
leaves, like a blare of trumpets; the magic of the green al-
ley, narrowing to a point as you looked down the row, with
the pickers in their sun-bonnets: perhaps there was more of
the Greek spirit there than you could find in the books of
professors or in museums. He was thankful for the beau-
ty of England. He thought of the winding white roads and
the hedgerows, the green meadows with their elm-trees, the
delicate line of the hills and the copses that crowned them,
the flatness of the marshes, and the melancholy of the North
Sea. He was very glad that he felt its loveliness. But presently
Athelny grew restless and announced that he would go and
ask how Robert Kemp’s mother was. He knew everyone in

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