Pine away -- dwine away -- Anything to leave you ! But if you never grieve your Bees , Your Bees 'll never grieve you ! Just at dusk , a soft September rain began to fall on the hop-pickers . The mothers wheeled the bouncing perambulators out of the gardens ; bins were put away , and tally-books made up . The young couples strolled home , two to each umbrella , and the single men walked behind them laughing . Dan and Una , who had been picking after their lessons , marched off to roast potatoes at the oast-house , where old Hobden , with Blue-eyed Bess , his lurcher dog , lived all the month through , drying the hops . They settled themselves , as usual , on the sack-strewn cot in front of the fires , and , when Hobden drew up the shutter , stared , as usual , at the flameless bed of coals spouting its heat up the dark well of the old-fashioned roundel . Slowly he cracked off a few fresh pieces of coal , packed them , with fingers that never flinched , exactly where they would do most good ; slowly he reached behind him till Dan tilted the potatoes into his iron scoop of a hand ; carefully he arranged them round the fire , and then stood for a moment , black against the glare . As he closed the shutter , the oast-house seemed dark before the day 's end , and he lit the candle in the lanthorn . The children liked all these things because they knew them so well . The Bee Boy , Hobden 's son , who is not quite right in his head , though he can do anything with bees , slipped in like a shadow . They only guessed it when Bess 's stump-tail wagged against them . A big voice began singing outside in the drizzle : ` Old Mother Laidinwool had nigh twelve months been dead , She heard the hops were doin ' well , and then popped up her head . ' ` There ca n't be two people made to holler like that ! ' cried old Hobden , wheeling round . ` For , ' says she , ` The boys I 've picked with when I was young and fair , They 're bound to be at hoppin ' , and I 'm -- ' A man showed at the doorway . ` Well , well ! They do say hoppin ' 'll draw the very deadest , and now I belieft 'em . You , Tom ? Tom Shoesmith ? '
XXXXX lowered his lanthorn .
Boy Hobden Laidinwool cot fall hop-pickers lanthorn months right tally-books