PREFACE
July, 1895.
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;
She is so constant to me, and so kind.
And so leave her,
But ah! she is so constant and so kind.”
BOOK ONE
THE THREE WOMEN
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“You have a child there, my man?”
“The deuce you have! Why did she cry out?”
“Oh, she has fallen asleep, and not being used to traveling, she’s uneasy, and keeps dreaming.”
What harm can I do to you or to her?”
“Where, may I ask?”
“At Anglebury.”
“A nice-looking girl, no doubt?”
“Who is she? One of the neighbourhood?”
3 - The Custom of the Country
Earl Mar’-shal, I’ll’ go shrive’-the queen’,
“A boon’, a boon’, quoth Earl’ Mar-shal’,
And fell’ on his bend’-ded knee’,
No harm’ there-of’ may be’.”
“Hey?” said Grandfer Cantle, stopping in his dance.
“Well, no.”
“Do thou’ put on’ a fri’-ar’s coat’,
And I’ll’ put on’ a-no’-ther,
Like Fri’ar and’ his bro’ther.
“No,” said Grandfer Cantle, his countenance slightly flagging.
“Exactly—seem foolish-like; and that’s very bad for the poor things that be so, though I only guess as much, to be sure,” said Grandfer Cantle, still strenuously preserving a sensible bearing and mien.
“I ha’n’t been these three years,” said Humphrey;
“I never did,” said the turf-cutter.
“Nor I,” said another.
“Nor I,” said Grandfer Cantle.
“Hardly,” said Timothy; “but I name no name....Come, keep the fire up there, youngsters.”
“Whatever is Christian Cantle’s teeth a-chattering for?” said a boy from amid the smoke and shades on the other side of the blaze. “Be ye a-cold, Christian?”
“What be ye quaking for, Christian?” said the turf-cutter kindly.
“I’m the man.”
“What man?”
“I’ve asked ‘em.”
“Not a boy—not a boy. Still there’s hope yet.”
“Ah!”
“No moon—that’s bad. Hey, neighbours, that’s bad for him!”
“Yes, ‘tis bad,” said Grandfer Cantle, shaking his head.
“No—don’t talk about it if ‘tis agreeable of ye not to!
I am up for anything.
“The king’ look’d o’-ver his left’ shoul-der’,
And a grim’ look look’-ed hee’,
Earl Mar’-shal, he said’, but for’ my oath’
Or hang’-ed thou’ shouldst bee’.”
Little and good must be said of that fire, surely.”
“And so can I!” said Grandfer Cantle.
“No, no, you can’t, my sonnies. That fire is not much less than a mile off, for all that ‘a seems so near.”
“’Tis in the heath, but no furze,” said the turf-cutter.
The dancers all lessened their speed.
Luke, and John, bless the bed that I lie on; four angels guard—“
“Hoi-i-i-i!” cried a voice from the darkness.
When the flame arose it revealed a young man in tight raiment, and red from top to toe. “Is there a track across here to Mis’ess Yeobright’s house?” he repeated.
“Well, thank you for telling me,” said the young reddleman, smiling faintly. “And good night t’ye all.”
“He didn’t tell us.”
“I am glad to hear that your son Mr. Clym is coming home at Christmas, ma’am,” said Sam, the turf-cutter. “What a dog he used to be for bonfires!”
“Yes. I believe he is coming,” she said.
“Is that you, Christian?” said Mrs. Yeobright.
“Ay, sure, ma’am, I’m just thinking of moving,” said Olly.
“Thank you indeed,” said Mrs. Yeobright.
