There was just enough room for the little engine to be dragged down between the hills--as they term them--of the hops without much crushing; but the labourers took good care to empty it first, and even then the wheels made deep ruts in the well-dug soil. After some hours' work the men had drawn it well into the middle of the garden; and while two pumped and another directed a fine spray under the leaves and among the tendrils, others plodded steadily along from the copper and tubs, each bearing a couple of buckets, and carefully picking a fresh way from time to time so as to avoid the shower of fine rain dripping from the verdant arches overhead. "Hope nobody won't taste none o' this stuff in his yale, Joey," said one of the bucket-bearers, as he tossed the medicated water into the big tub from which the suction-pipe of the engine drew its supply, and as he spoke he widened the perennial grin which dwelt upon his puckered face. "Do un good," growled Joey, who was directing the spray from the branch so as to spread it over as many leaves as possible. "Make un teetotal, Smiler." "Ha, ha!" chuckled the man with the buckets; "deal o' teetotal about you, Joey. Make yale taste, though, won't it?" "Na-a-a-ay! Rain'll wash it all off in no time, Smiler. There, fetch some more." "All very fine, Joey; but its wa-arm down here. Wind don't come." "Well, who wants wind to knock the poles down?--best lewed garden, this, on the fa-arm. Fatch some more!" Smiler, as he was called, went off with his empty buckets, trudged back to the copper and water-barrel, justifying his name at every step; for he smiled at the clods of earth, the weeds which had sprung up, at the poles, and then at the horse in the shafts of the water-barrel cart, before refilling his buckets and starting back down a fresh row of hops, between which the sun came glinting and sending shafts of silver arrows to the rich soil, out of which peeped wool clippings, shoddy, greasy rags, and other indescribable rubbish used by the farmer to fertilise his field. When abreast of the engine, hidden from him by three or four rows of poles, Smiler set down his pails with a clank, smiled round him, and wiped his wet brow with one bare arm, then the other side in the same way, the operation being so satisfactory that he continued it all over his face. Then, smiling more than ever, he stooped, picked up his buckets, went on a few yards to where there was an opening into the next row, turned himself edgewise, and passed through with his buckets swung round, and was about to pass through into another green arcade, but stopped, smiling still, and put down his load once more with a louder rattle of the handles, while _clank clank_ went the engine and _whish whish_ and _sputter_ the cloud of spray among the leaves. "Now then, Smiler, come on!" shouted one of the men with the engine, still hidden, but close at hand. "Hi! Joey," shouted Smiler. "What's the matter?--found a hop-dog?"