"We are placing all our hopes, this year, upon the hops!"
CHAPTER XXIII
How Small Porges, in his hour of need, was deserted by his Uncle
"Ruined, sir!—Done for!—Lord love me! they ain't worth the trouble o? gatherin'—w'ot's left on 'em, Mr. Belloo sir."
"So bad as that, Adam?"
"Bad!—ah, so bad as ever was, sir!" said Adam, blinking suspiciously, and turning suddenly away.
"Has Miss Anthea seen,—does she know?"
"Ah! she were out at dawn, and Oh Lord, Mr. Belloo sir! I can't never forget her poor, stricken face,—so pale and sad it were. But she never said nothing, only: 'Oh, Adam!—my poor hops!' An' I see her lips all of a quiver while she spoke. An' so she turned away, an' came back to the 'ouse, sir. Poor lass! Oh poor lass!" he exclaimed, his voice growing more husky. "She's made a brave fight for it, sir,—but it weren't no use, ye see,—it'll be 'Good-bye' for her to Dapplemere, arter all, that there mortgage can't never be paid now,—nohow."
"When is it due?"
"Well, according to the bond, or the deed, or whatever they calls it,—it be doo—tonight, at nine o'clock, sir,—though Old Grimes,—as a special favour, an' arter much persuading,—'ad agreed to hold over till next Saturday,—on account o' the 'op-picking. But now—seeing as there ain't no 'ops to be picked,—why he'll fore-close to-night, an' glad enough to do it, you can lay your oath on that, Mr. Belloo sir."