Fifteen: Far From The Madding Crowd: Thomas Hardy:

The scarlet and orange light outside the Malthouse. But this light did not reach its inside. There was a dim light coming from the glow of the hearth. The malster, after his sleep was sitting beside a three legged table, breakfasting off bread and bacon. This was eaten without the aid of any plates: he placed a slice of bread on the table; put meat upon the bread; spread mustard plaster upon the meat; and a pinch of salt upon the whole; cut them vertically downward with a large pocket-knife; and lifted it to his mouth. He had no teeth, and he used his hard gum to chew the food. By opening the door of the malthouse Henery Fray entered. Stamping the snow from his boot he advanced towards the fire. Mathew Moon, Joseph Poorgrass and other carters followed him. They had just come out from the cart-horse stable. 

"And how is she getting on without a bailiff?" asked the malster. Henery Fray shook his head and smiled bitterly, "She is going to regret her decision. Pennyways was not an honest man. But to think she could manage alone!" he said swinging his head sideways, "never in all my life 

happened -- never! 

This was recognised by all as the conclusion of some gloomy speech. Henery retained the marks of despair upon his face.

"All will be ruined, and ourselves too, and there is no meat in gentlemen's houses!" said Mark Clark, ready to burst all links of habit.

"A headstrong maid, and won't listen to anyone. Pride and vanity have ruined many a cobbler's dog."

"True," said Joseph Poorgrass sadly.

"Have a bee in her bonnet," said Billy Smallbury, who had just entered, bearing his one tooth before him. "She can speak real language, and must have some sense somewhere. Do you understand?

"I do, I do, but no bailiff -- I deserved that place," wailed Henery.

No, no; I don't agree with you," said Joseph Poorgrass.

A short pause, as Henery turned to blow out the lanterns: increased daylight rendered them no more necessary.

"I wonder what a farmer-woman can do with a piano," said the malster, "Liddy said she has a new one."

"Got a piano?"

"Aye, seems her uncle's old things were not good enough. She have bought all but every thing new. There's heavy chair for the stout, wiry for the lean; great watches getting on to the size of clocks to stand upon mantelpiece, pictures with wonderful frames, long horse-hair settle for the drunk, with horse-hair pillows on each end."

"Looking glasses for the pretty." 

"Lying books for the wicked." 

A firm, loud tread was heard stamping outside. The door was slightly opened. Somebody outside, exclaimed, "Neighbours, have you got room for a few new- born lambs?" 

"Aye, sure, shepherd," said the conclave.

The door was flung back and it kicked the wall, and trembled from top to bottom. Oak appeared. A steaming face, hay-bands bound about his ankles to keep out the snow, a leather strap round his waist outside the smoke-frock, and looking altogether an epitome of the world's health and vigour. Four lambs hung in various embarassing attitudes over his shoulders, and the dog George which Gabriel was forced to fetch from Norcombe, stalked solemnly behind.

"Well, shepherd Oak, how lambing this year?" inquired Joseph Poorgrass.

"A harrowing experience," said Oak. "I have been wet through twice a day, either in snow or rain, this last fortnight. Cainy and I haven't a wink of sleep to-night." 

"A good few twins, too, I think?" 

"Too many by half. It's a very queer lambing this year. We shan't have done by Lady Day" 

"And last year it were all Sexagesamine Sunday," Joseph remarked.

"Bring on the rest, Cain," said Gabriel, "and then run back to the ewes. I'll follow you soon." 

Cainy Ball, a cherry-faced young lad with a small circular mouth advanced and deposited two others, and retired. Oak lowered the lamb, wrapped them in hay, and placed them round the fire.

"We have no lambing hut here, as I used to have in Norcombe," said Gabriel, "and it is such a plague to bring the weakly ones to a house. If it weren't for your place here, malster, I don't know what I should do, this keen weather. And how is it with you today?"

"Oh, neither sick nor sorry, shepherd; but no younger."

" Aye, I understand.

"Sit down, shepherd Oak, continued the malster, "and how was the old place at Norcombe, when you went for your dog?  I should like to see the old familiar spot; but I am sure,  I shouldn't know a soul there now."

"Yes, you wouldn't. It is altered very much." 

"Is it true, Dicky Hills cider wooden house is pulled down?" 

"Years ago, and the cottage too."

"Well?" 

"And Tompkin's old apple tree, you remember?" 

"That used to bear two hogheads of cider with its own apples?" 

"Rooted." 

"Ah! Stirring times we live in." 

"And you can mind the old well that used to be in the middle of that place? That's turned into a solid iron pump through a large stone, and all complete."

"Dear, dear -- how the face of nation alters! The same here. They have been talking about the mis'ess's strange doings," the malster said.

"What have you been saying about her?" inquired Oak.

"These middle-aged men have been pulling her over coals for pride and vanity," said Mark Clark; "but I say, let her have a rope enough.  Bless her pretty face -- shouldn't I like to do so --- upon her cherry lips!" Here the man made a peculiar and well-known sound with his own.

"Mark," said Gabriel sternly, "now you mind this; none of the dalliance talk -- that philandering way -- that Dandle-smack-and-coddle style of yours -- about Miss Everdene. I don't allow it. Do you hear?"

"With all my heart, as the old woman said," said Clark, heartily.

"I suppose you have been speaking against her?"said Oak, turning to Joseph Poorgrass with a very grim look.

"No, no -- not a word I --'tis a real joyful thing that she's.no worse. That's what I say," said Joseph Poorgrass, trembling and blushing with terror.  "Mathew just said" --

"Mathew Moon," said Oak, "What have you been talking?"

"I? Why, you know I wouldn't harm a worm!" said Mathew Moon, looking very uneasy.

" Well, somebody has -- and look here, neighbours," Gabriel, though quiet and gentle, rose to the occasion and said with vigour, "That's my fist." Here he placed his fist on the little table with a bump and said, "-- the first man in the parish that I hear prophesying bad of our mistress, why" here He raised the fist and bumped it on the table. "He will smell and taste that or I am a Dutch man." 

"Hear, hear, as the undertaker said," cried Mark Clark. The dog George looked up at his master, and though he could not understand him, he began to growl as a ritual.

"We hear that you be a clever and extraordinary good man, shepherd," said Joseph Poorgrass, from behind the malster's bedstead, whereto he had retired for safety. "It's  a great thing to be clever," he repeated, making small movements with his body to ease his mind. And then he continued, "we wish we were clever, don't we, neighbours?" 

"Aye, that we do, sure," said Mathew Moon, with a small anxious laugh towards Oak, to show his friendly disposition.

"Who has been telling you I am clever?" said Oak.

"It is known everywhere," said Mathew. "We hear that you can tell the time by stars as we can by the sun and moon."

"A little ny that way."

"That you can make sun dials, and emboss folks' name on wagons. Joseph Poorgrass used to emboss on Farmer James Everdene's wagons before you came, but he could never put J and E correctly. His J looks east and E looks west. Didn't you Joseph? Farmer Everdene would cuss and call him a fool."

"Aye, my memory always fails with J and E," continued Joseph Poorgrass. "I feel my thanks you came. Mis'ess ought to have made you her bailiff"

"I don't mind, though I expected it. She has a right to choose herself," said Oak, sadly looking into the ash-pit.

The genial warmth of the fire now began to stimulate the lambs to bleat and move their limbs. The noise increased to a chorus of bass, upon which Oak pulled the milk-can, and taking a small tea-pot from the pocket of his smock-frock, filled it with milk, and taught those of the helpless creatures which were not to be restored to their dams.

"And she doesn't even let you have the skins of the dead lamb, I hear?"

resumed Joseph Poorgrass.

"I don't have them," said Gabriel.

"You are very badly used, Oak," said he, again in the hope of getting an ally.

"Oh, no. Not at all." 

Before anymore conversation, a shade darkened the door and Boldwood stood at the door trying to discern Gabriel Oak in the red glow of the fire.

"Ah Oak, I thought you were here," he said when he could discern the man among the scattered men. "I met the mail-cart ten minutes ago, and he gave me this letter, which I opened thinking that it was to me. I found it is for you. You must excuse the accident, please."

"Oh, yes -- not a bit of difference, Mr Boldwood," said Gabriel, readily.

There was nobody to write to him. He stepped aside and read the following in an unknown hand:-

"DEAR FRIEND, 

I do not know your name, but I thank you for your kindness to me the night I left Weatherbury in a reckless way. I also return the money I owe you, excuse me for not keeping it as a gift. All has ended well, and I am going to be married to a young man, who has courted me for sometime -- Sergeant Troy, of the 11th Dragoon Guards, now quartered in Melchester. He would object to my receiving anything except as a loan. He is a noble man by blood.

Please keep it a secret. We would mean to surprise Weatherbury by coming there as husband and wife, though I blush to mention it to a stranger. The Seargent grew up in Weatherbury. Thanking you again for your kindness.

I am your sincere well-wisher.

FANNY ROBIN"

"Have  you read it Mr Boldwood?" said Gabriel. "If not, you had better do so. I know you are interested in Fanny Robin."

Boldwood read the letter and grieved.

"Fanny -- poor Fanny!  She is so confident of the end. He has not come, and may never come.

"What sort of a man he is?" asked Gabriel.

"I am afraid, he is not reliable. He is a clever fellow. A slight romance attach to him, too. His mother a French Governess was married to a poor medical man, and while money was forthcoming all went on well. Unfortunately for the boy, his best friends died, and he got then a situation as second clerk as a lawyer's in Casterbridge. He stayed there for sometime, and might have worked him to a dignified position of some sort, had he not indulged in the wild freak of enlistment. I doubt if ever little Fanny will surprise us in the way she mentions. A silly girl!"

The door was hurriedly burst open.. Came in running Cainy Ball out of breath, mouth red and open, like the bell of a penny trumpet, and coughing vigorously.

"Now, Cainy," said Oak sternly, "Why did you run so fast? I was always telling you not to."

"Oh -- I -- went the wrong way -"

"Well, what have you come for?"

"That you must come directly.  Two more ewes have twinned," said Cainy Ball, leaning against the door-post to support his tired youthful frame.

"You are a good boy to run out and tell me Cainy. You shall have a large plum-cake as a treat," said Gabriel jumping up and dismissed his thoughts about Fanny Robin.

He took up a marking iron from his pocket and dipped it into a pot and imprinted on the buttocks of the infant sheep the initials B.E., meaning that the lamb belonged to Bathsheba Everdene.

"Now, Cainy, shoulder your two, and off. Good morning Mr Boldwood." He lifted the four lambs he had brought and vanished with them to the lambing field. Boldwood followed him. The nook in which the sheep fold was constructed, the farmer drew out his pocket-book, unfastened it, and spread it on his hand. A letter was revealed -- Bathsheba's.

"I was going to ask you, Oak," said he, with unreal carelessness, "If you know whose writing is this?" 

Oak glanced into the book, and replied instantly, with a flushed face, "Miss Everdene's." 

"Is it I?" asked Boldwood.

"The question is perfectly fair," said Oak, "You know, secret inquiries are made; that's where the Valentine's Day fun lies." 

Soon parting from Gabriel, the lonely and reserved man returned to his house to breakfast feeling shame and regret at having exposed his mood to a stranger. He placed the letter again on the mantle-piece and sat down to breakfast, thinking of the circumstances attending it by the light of Gabriel's information.

End of the Chapter 

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