and their
flowers dried flavour ale. We say:--

'"Turkeys, Heresy, Hops, and Beer
Came into England all in one year."'

'Heresy I know. I've seen Hops--God be praised for their beauty! What is
your Turkis?'

The children laughed. They knew the Lindens turkeys, and as soon as they
reached Lindens' orchard on the hill the flock charged at them.

Out came Hal's book at once. 'Hoity-toity!' he cried. 'Here's Pride in
purple feathers! Here's wrathy contempt and the Pomps of the Flesh! How
d'you call _them_?'

'Turkeys! Turkeys!' the children shouted, as the old gobbler raved and
flamed against Hal's plum-coloured hose.

'Save Your Magnificence!' he said. 'I've drafted two good new things
to-day.' And he doffed his cap to the bubbling bird.

Then they walked through the grass to the knoll where Little Lindens
stands. The old farm-house, weather-tiled to the ground, took almost the
colour of a blood-ruby in the afternoon light. The pigeons pecked at the
mortar in the chimney-stacks; the bees that had lived under the tiles
since it was built filled the hot August air with their booming; and the
smell of the box-tree by the dairy-window mixed with the smell of earth
after rain, bread after baking, and a tickle of wood-smoke.

The farmer's wife came to the door, baby on arm, shaded her brows against
the sun, stooped to pluck a sprig of rosemary, and turned down the
orchard. The old spaniel in his barrel barked once or twice to show he was
in charge of the empty house. Puck clicked back the garden-gate.

'D'you marvel that I love it?' said Hal, in a whisper. 'What can town folk
know of the nature of housen--or land?'

[Illustration: 'Hoity-toity,' he cried. 'Here's Pride in purple
feathers! Here's wrathy contempt and the Pomps of the Flesh!'... And
he doffed his cap to the bubbling bird.]

They perched themselves arow on the old hacked oak bench in Lindens'
garden, looking across the valley of the brook at the fern-covered dimples
and hollows of the Forge behind Hobden's cottage. The old man was cutting
a faggot in his garden by the hives. It was quite a second after his
chopper fell that the chump of the blow reached their lazy ears.

'Eh--yeh!' said Hal. 'I mind when where that old gaffer stands was Nether
Forge--Master John Collins's foundry. Many a night has his big trip-hammer
shook me in my bed here. _Boom-bitty! Boom-bitty!_ If the wind was east, I
could hear Master Tom Collins's forge at Stockens a