'They're an
herb of Mars, and their flowers dried flavour ale. We
say -
'Turkeys, Heresy, Hops, and Beer
Came into England all in one year.'
'Heresy I know. I've seen Hops - God be praised for
their beauty! What is your Turkis?'
The children laughed. They knew the Lindens turkeys,
and as soon as they reached Lindens orchard on the hill
the full flock charged at them.
Out came Hal's book at once. 'Hoity-toity!' he cried.
'Here's Pride in purple feathers! Here's wrathy contempt
and the Pomps of the Flesh! How d'you call them?'
'Turkeys! Turkeys!' the children shouted, as the old
gobbler raved and flamed against Hal's plum-coloured hose.
"Save Your Magnificence!' he said. 'I've drafted two
good new things today.' And he doffed his cap to the
bubbling bird.
Then they walked through the grass to the knoll where
Little Lindens stands. The old farmhouse, weather-tiled
to the ground, took almost the colour of a blood-ruby in
the afternoon light. The pigeons pecked at the mortar in
the chimney-stacks; the bees that had lived under the
tiles since it was built filled the hot August air with their
booming; and the smell of the box-tree by the dairy-
window mixed with the smell of earth after rain, bread
after baking, and a tickle of wood-smoke.
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