THE COUNTRY-SIDE: SUSSEX. 81 
in the interior of old Continental churches, which people 
go so many miles to see? Our own land is so full of 
interest. There are pictures by the oldest Master every- 
where in our own country, by the very Master of the 
masters, by Time, whose crooked signature lies in the 
corner of the shadowy farmhouse hearth. 
Beneath the loft, on the ground-floor, I found the 
giant’s couch. The bed of a cart had been taken off its 
wheels, forming a very good bedstead, dry and sheltered 
on three sides. On the fourth the sleeper’s feet were 
towards the charcoal fire. Opening the furnace door, he 
could sit there and watch the blue and green tongues of 
sulphur flame curl round about and above the glowing 
charcoal, the fumes rising to the hops on the horsehai 
high over. The ‘hoppers’ in the garden used to bring 
their kettles and pots to boil, till the practice grew toa 
frequent, and was stopped, because the constant opening 
of the furnace wasted the heat. The sulphur comes in 
casks. A sulphur cask sawn down the middle, with a 
bit left by the head for cover, is often used by the hop- 
pers asacradle. Another favourite cradle is made from 
a trug basket, the handle cut off. It is then like half a 
large eggshell, with cross pieces underneath to prevent 
it from canting aside. This cradle is set on the bare 
ground in the garden; when they move one woman 
takes hold of one end and a second of the other, and 
thus carry the infant. If you ask them, they will find 
you a ‘hop-dog,’ a handsome green caterpillar marked 
with black velvet stripes and downy bands between. 
Their labour usually ends early in the afternoon. 
The giant at the kiln must watch and bide his time 
the ‘night through till the hops are ready to be with- 
drawn from the cone. He is alone. Dcep shadows 
gather round the farmstead and the ricks, and there is 
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