It was nearing the time when the final goodbye would be said and all would again go on the road, so that this was the last occasion during the hop-picking upon which so general a gathering could take place; some would, perhaps, meet again in a week or two, others not until next “hopping.” As there were a number present whom I did not expect to see again for a good while, I received many a warm hand-shake and the almost invariable and hearty wish for a “happy journey,” which, from a gypsy, means not only the journey one is just about to take, but also implies—“as you travel through life may happiness attend you.” Any little unpleasant happenings there might have been were forgotten, and, after a parting song, keepsakes were asked for and exchanged,—a pretty custom that brings to mind the giver long after each has jalled opré the drom. CHAPTER X It is a Sunday night, and as I sit beside my fire, rejoicing in the grateful warmth afforded by the substantial billets, I can hear much that passes in the tent nearest to mine and in the vicinity of its fire; moreover, I can just distinguish one person from another in the group around the blaze which provides a patch of light with a softened edge against the velvety black background of a moonless night. A middle-aged woman commences singing the well-known hymn, “What a Friend we have in Jesus,” while younger members of the family begin to join in. It is an occasion which one would hardly describe as ludicrous, yet I am scarcely able to repress a smile, for this is what I hear in different voices, verbatim and in proper sequence—“What a Friend we have,—Mother! where’s the soap, I can’t find it,—Mary Ann, be quiet, will you,—Good night, mush,—Come out o’ the way, Mary, you’ll burn yourself,—Will you shut up, I ain’t a-goin’ to give you no more sweets, I’m goin’ to have this one myself,—D——n you, you’d eat me an’ all if I let you—” The hymn starts again, at last gets fairly under way and all join in heartily; when finished, another is gone through, and yet another, all the family seeming to appreciate the occasion and enjoy the singing. After due allowance for the faults of these people—the existence of which I should be more than foolish to deny—and writing off, as it were, so much for depreciated human nature, there remains a great deal about them that is straightforward and lovable. There is, too, a peculiar attractiveness in this singing by the camp fire before the family retires to rest on this Sunday night.