Twenty Seven: Far From The Madding Crowd: Thomas Hardy - Hiving The Bees

Weatherbury bees were late in swarming, this year. It was later part of June, and the day after Sergeant Francis Troy visited the farm, that Bathsheba Everdene was standing in her garden, watching a swarm in the air, and guessing their probable settling place. They were late and unruly. Sometimes, throughout the season they would settle on the lowest bough, on a currant-bush or espalier apple tree . Next year they would settle straight off to the tallest coastard, or quarrington [1] and there defy all invaders who did not come with ladders and staves to take them.

Bathsheba shaded her eyes, by one hand, were following these multitudes of swarming bees, and they ultimately halted by one of the trees. The bustling swarm had swept the sky in a scattered and uniform haze, which now thickened to a nebulous centre.  This glided on to a bough, and grew still denser, till it formed a solid blank spot upon the light.

All the men and women were engaged in saving the hay, Liddy too left the house for the purpose.  Bathsheba resolved to hive the bees herself. She had dressed the hive with herbs and honey. Fetched the ladder, brush, and crook, wore the leather gloves, a straw hat, and a large gauze veil, and ascended a dozen rungs of ladder.
A voice that was beginning to have strange power in agitating her, came in.

"Miss Everdene, let me assist you; you should not attempt such a feat alone." Troy was just opening the garden gate. 

Bathsheba flung down the brush, crook, and empty hive,  pulled her skirt tightly round her ankles in a tremendous flurry and slid down the ladder.  By the time she reached the bottom Troy was there, and he stooped to pick up the hive.
"How fortunate I am to have dropped in at this moment!" he exclaimed.
She found her voice in a minute. "What! Will you shake them in for me? she asked.
"Will I?  Why, of course I will.  How blooming you are today!"  Troy flung down his cane and put his foot on the ladder to ascend.
"But you must be on the veil and gloves, or you will be stung fearfully!"
" Ah, yes. I must put on the veil and gloves.  Will you kindly show me how to fix them properly?"
"And you must have the broad brimmed hat, too; your cap has no brim to keep the veil off, and they would reach your face."
"The broad brimmed hat, too, by all means.

By a whimsical instinct, she took off her hat and the veil attached to it, and placed upon Troy's head, who before this time had tossed his own into a gooseberry bush.  The veil had to be tied at its lower edge round his collar, and the gloves put on him.

He looked an extraordinary object in this guise.  She was in a state of confusion and disorder.  In spite of this, she could not avoid laughing. The palisade of cold manners that she built around her began to melt.

Bathsheba looked on from the ground while he was sweeping and shaking the bees from the tree, holding up the hive with the other hand for them to fall in. He came down holding the hive at arm's length, behind which trailed a cloud of bees.

"Upon my life," said Troy, through the veil, "holding up this hive makes one's arm ache, worse than a week of sword exercise." 

Approaching her he asked, "Would you be good enough to untie me, and let me out?  I am nearly stifled inside this silk cage."

To hide her embarassment during the unwonted process of untying the string about his neck, she said, ---
"I have never seen that you spoke of."
"What?" 
"The sword exercise." 
"Ah! would you like to?" said Troy.

Bathsheba hesitated.  She had heard wonderful stories of sword exercise,  by temporary dwellers who had by chance stayed for a while in Casterbridge near the barracks.  According to these stories, men and boys would peep through the chinks or over the walls into the barrack yard and see these glorious performance.
So she said mildly, "Yes I should like to see it very much."
"So you shall.  You shall see me go through it." 
"No!. How?" 
"Let me consider." 
"Not with a walking stick.  I don't care to see that.  It must be a real sword." 
"Yes, I know; and I have no sword here; I think I could get one by evening.  Now, will you do this?" asked Sergeant Troy.

He bent over her and murmured some suggestion in a low voice.
"Oh, no indeed," said Bathsheba, blushing.  "Thank you very much, but I couldn't on any account." 
"Surely you might.  Nobody would know." 
She shook her head, "but, if I were to," she said, "I must bring Liddy too.  Might I not?"

Troy looked far away.  "I don't see why you want to bring her," he said coldly.

A look of assent came in Bathsheba's eyes.  Something more than his coldness had made her also feel that Liddy would be superfluous.

"Well, I won't bring Liddy --- and I will come.  But only for a very short time," she added.

"It will not take five minutes," said Troy.

THE END OF THE CHAPTER 











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1. A variety of English dessert apples 

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