Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
WEALTH IN JEOPARDY -- THE REVEL
ONE night, at the end of August, when Bathsheba'sexperiences as a married woman were still new, andwhen the weather was yet dry and sultry, a man stoodmotionless in the stockyard of Weatherbury UpperFarm, looking at the moon and sky.The night had a sinister aspect. A heated breezefrom the south slowly fanned the summits of loftyobjects, and in the sky dashes of buoyant cloud weresailing in a course at right angles to that of anotherstratum, neither of them in the direction of the breezebelow. The moon, as seen through these films, hada lurid metallic look. The fields were sallow with theimpure light, and all were tinged in monochrome, asif beheld through stained glass. The same eveningthe sheep had trailed homeward head to tail, thebehaviour of the rooks had been confused, and thehorses had moved with timidity and caution.Thunder was imminent, and, taking some secondaryappearances into consideration, it was likely to befollowed by one of the lengthened rains which markthe close of dry weather for the season. Before twelvehours had passed a harvest atmosphere would be abygone thing.Oak gazed with misgiving at eight naked and un-protected ricks, massive and heavy with the richproduce of one-half the farm for that year. He wenton to the barn.This was the night which had been selected bySergeant Troy -- ruling now in the room of his wife --for giving the harvest supper and dance. As Oakapproached the building the sound of violins and atambourine, and the regular jigging of many feet, grewmore distinct. He came close to the large doors, oneof which stood slightly ajar, and looked in.The central space, together with the recess at oneend, was emptied of all incumbrances, and this area,covering about two-thirds of the whole, was appropriatedfor the gathering, the remaining end, which was piledto the ceiling with oats, being screened off with sail-cloth. Tufts and garlands of green foliage decoratedthe walls, beams, and extemporized chandeliers, andimmediately opposite to Oak a rostrum had beenerected, bearing a table and chairs. Here sat threefiddlers, and beside them stood a frantic man with hishair on end, perspiration streaming down his cheeks,and a tambourine quivering in his hand.The dance ended, and on the black oak floor in themidst a new row of couples formed for another.”Now, ma'am, and no offence I hope, I ask whatdance you would like next?” said the first violin.”Really, it makes no difference.” said the clear voiceof Bathsheba, who stood at the inner end of the build-ing, observing the scene from behind a table coveredwith cups and viands. Troy was lolling beside her.”Then.” said the fiddler, ”I'll venture to name thatthe right and proper thing is ”The Soldier's Joy” --there being a gallant soldier married into the farm --hey, my sonnies, and gentlemen all?””It shall be ”The Soldier's Joy,” exclaimed achorus.”Thanks for the compliment.” said the sergeantgaily, taking Bathsheba by the hand and leading herto the top of the dance. ”For though I have pur-chased my discharge from Her Most Gracious Majesty'sregiment of cavalry the 11th Dragoon Guards, to attendto the new duties awaiting me here, I shall continue asoldier in spirit and feeling as long as I live.”So the dance began. As to the merits of ”TheSoldier's Joy.” there cannot be, and never were, twoopinions. It has been observed in the musical circlesof Weatherbury and its vicinity that this melody, atthe end of three-quarters of an hour of thunderousfooting, still possesses more stimulative properties forthe heel and toe than the majority of other dances attheir first opening. ”The Soldier's Joy” has, too, anadditional charm, in being so admirably adapted tothe tambourine aforesaid -- no mean instrument in thehands of a performer who understands the properconvulsions, spasms, St. vitus's dances, and fearfulfrenzies necessary when exhibiting its tones in theirhighest perfection.The immortal tune ended, a fine DD rolling forthfrom the bass-viol with the sonorousness of a cannonade,and Gabriel delayed his entry no longer. He avoidedBathsheba, and got as near as possible to the platform,where Sergeant Troy was now seated, drinking brandy-and-water, though the others drank without exceptioncider and ale. Gabriel could not easily thrust himselfwithin speaking distance of the sergeant, and he senta message, asking him to come down for a moment.”The sergeant said he could not attend.”Will you tell him, then.” said Gabriel, ”that I onlystepped ath'art to say that a heavy rain is sure to fallsoon, and that something should be done to protectthe ricks?””M. Troy says it will not rain.” returned themessenger, ”and he cannot stop to talk to you aboutsuch fidgets.”In Juxtaposition with Troy, Oak had a melancholytendency to look like a candle beside gas, and ill atease, he went out again, thinking he would go home;for, under the circumstances, he had no heart for thescene in the barn. At the door he paused for amoment: Troy was speaking.”Friends, it is not only the harvest home that weare celebrating to-night; but this is also a WeddingFeast. A short time ago I had the happiness to leadto the altar this lady, your mistress, and not until nowhave we been able to give any public flourish to theevent in Weatherbury. That it may be thoroughlywell done, and that every man may go happy to bed,I have ordered to be brought here some bottles ofbrandy and kettles of hot water. A treble-stronggoblet will he handed round to each guest.”Bathsheba put her hand upon his arm, and, withupturned pale face, said imploringly,” No -- don't giveit to them -- pray don't, Frank! It will only do themharm: they have had enough of everything.””True -- we don't wish for no more, thank ye.” saidone or two.”Pooh!” said the sergeant contemptuously, andraised his voice as if lighted up by a new idea.”Friends.” he said,” we'll send the women-folk home!'Tis time they were in bed. Then we cockbirds willhave a jolly carouse to ourselves! If any of the menshow the white feather, let them look elsewhere for awinter's work.”Bathsheba indignantly left the barn, followed byall the women and children. The musicians, notlooking upon themselves as ”company.” slipped quietlyaway to their spring waggon and put in the horse.Thus Troy and the men on the farm were left soleoccupants of the place. Oak, not to appear unneces-sarily disagreeable, stayed a little while; then he, too,arose and quietly took his departure, followed by afriendly oath from the sergeant for not staying to asecond round of grog.Gabriel proceeded towards his home. In approach-ing the door, his toe kicked something which felt andsounded soft, leathery, and distended, like a boxing-glove. It was a large toad humbly travelling acrossthe path. Oak took it up, thinking it might be betterto kill the creature to save it from pain; but findingit uninjured, he placed it again among the grass. Heknew what this direct message from the Great Mothermeant. And soon came another.When he struck a light indoors there appeared uponthe table a thin glistening streak, as if a brush of varnishhad been lightly dragged across it. Oak's eyes followedthe serpentine sheen to the other side, where it led upto a huge brown garden-slug, which had come indoorsto-night for reasons of its own. It was Nature's secondway of hinting to him that he was to prepare for foulweather.Oak sat down meditating for nearly an hour.During this time two black spiders, of the kind commonin thatched houses, promenaded the ceiling, ultimatelydropping to the floor. This reminded him that if therewas one class of manifestation on this matter that hethoroughly understood, it was the instincts of sheep.He left the room, ran across two or three fields towardsthe flock, got upon a hedge, and looked over amongthem.They were crowded close together on the other sidearound some furze bushes, and the first peculiarity ob-servable was that, on the sudden appearance of Oak'shead over the fence, they did not stir or run away.They had now a terror of something greater than theirterror of man. But this was not the most noteworthyfeature: they were all grouped in such a way that theirtails, without a single exception, were towards that halfof the horizon from which the storm threatened. Therewas an inner circle closely huddled, and outside thesethey radiated wider apart, the pattern formed by theflock as a whole not being unlike a vandyked lacecollar, to which the clump of furze-bushes stood in theposition of a wearer's neck.opinion. He knew now that he was right, and thatTroy was wrong. Every voice in nature was unanimousin bespeaking change. But two distinct translationsattached to these dumb expressions. Apparently therewas to be a thunder-storm, and afterwards a cold con-tinuous rain. The creeping things seemed to know allabout the later rain, hut little of the interpolatedthunder-storm; whilst the sheep knew all about thethunder-storm and nothing of the later rain.This complication of weathers being uncommon,was all the more to be feared. Oak returned to thestack-yard. All was silent here, and the conical tips ofthe ricks jutted darkly into the sky. There were fivewheat-ricks in this yard, and three stacks of barley.The wheat when threshed would average about thirtyquarters to each stack; the barley, at least forty. Theirvalue to Bathsheba, and indeed to anybody, Oakmentally estimated by the following simple calcula-tion: --5 x 30 = 150 quarters= 500 L.3 x 40=120 quarters= 250 L.Total . . 750 L.Seven hundred and fifty pounds in the divinest formthat money can wear -- that of necessary food for manand beast: should the risk be run of deteriorating thisbulk of corn to less than half its value, because of theinstability of a woman?”Never, if I can prevent it!”said Gabriel.Such was the argument that Oak set outwardly beforehim. But man, even to himself, is a palimpsest, havingan ostensible writing, and another beneath the lines.It is possible that there was this golden legend underthe utilitarian one: ”I will help to my last effort thewoman I have loved so dearly.”He went back to the barn to endeavour to obtainassistance for covering the ricks that very night. Allwas silent within, and he would have passed on in thebelief that the party had broken up, had not a dimlight, yellow as saffron by contrast with the greenishwhiteness outside, streamed through a knot-hole in thefolding doors.Gabriel looked in. An unusual picture met his eye.The candles suspended among the evergreens hadburnt down to their sockets, and in some cases theleaves tied about them were scorched. Many of thelights had quite gone out, others smoked and stank,grease dropping from them upon the floor. Here,under the table, and leaning against forms and chairsin every conceivable attitude except the perpendicular,!”were the wretched persons of all the work-folk, the hairof their heads at such low levels being suggestive ofmops and brooms. In the midst of these shone redand distinct the figure of Sergeant Troy, leaning backin a chair. Coggan was on his back, with his mouthopen, huzzing forth snores, as were several others; theunited breathings of the horizonal assemblage forminga subdued roar like London from a distance. JosephPoorgrass was curled round in the fashion of a hedge-hog, apparently in attempts to present the least possibleportion of his surface to the air; and behind him wasdimly visible an unimportant remnant of William Small-bury. The glasses and cups still stood upon the table,a water-jug being overturned, from which a small rill,after tracing its course with marvellous precision downthe centre of the long table, fell into the neck of theunconscious Mark Clark, in a steady, monotonous drip,like the dripping of a stalactite in a cave.Gabriel glanced hopelessly at the group, which, withone or two exceptions, composed all the able-bodiedmen upon the farm. He saw at once that if the rickswere to be saved that night, or even the next morning,he must save them with his own hands.A faint ”ting-ting” resounded from under Coggan'swaistcoat. It was Coggan's watch striking the hour oftwo.Oak went to the recumbent form of Matthew Moon,who usually undertook the rough thatching of the home-stead, and shook him. The shaking was without effect.Gabriel shouted in his ear, ”where's your thatching-beetle and rick-stick and spars?””Under the staddles.” said Moon, mechanically, withthe unconscious promptness of a medium.Gabriel let go his head, and it dropped upon thefloor like a bowl. He then went to Susan Tall'shusband.”where's the key of the granary?”No answer. The question was repeated, with thesame result. To be shouted to at night was evidentlyless of a novelty to Susan Tall's husband than toMatthew Moon. Oak flung down Tall's head into thecorner again and turned away.To be just, the men were not greatly to blame forthis painful and demoralizing termination to theevening's entertainment. Sergeant Troy had so strenu-ously insisted, glass in hand, that drinking should bethe bond of their union, that those who wished to refusehardly liked to be so unmannerly under the circum-stances. Having from their youth up been entirely un-accustomed to any liquor stronger than cider or mildale, it was no wonder that they had succumbed, oneand all, with extraordinary uniformity, after the lapse ofabout an hour.Gabriel was greatly depressed. This debauch bodedill for that wilful and fascinating mistress whom thefaithful man even now felt within him as the embodi-ment of all that was sweet and bright and hopeless.He put out the expiring lights, that the barn mightnot be endangered, closed the door upon the men intheir deep and oblivious sleep, and went again into thelone night. A hot breeze, as if breathed from theparted lips of some dragon about to swallow the globe,fanned him from the south, while directly opposite inthe north rose a grim misshapen body of cloud, in thevery teeth of the wind. So unnaturally did it rise thatone could fancy it to be lifted by machinery from below.Meanwhile the faint cloudlets had flown back into thesouth-east corner of the sky, as if in terror of the largecloud, like a young brood gazed in upon by somemonster.Going on to the village, Oak flung a small stoneagainst the window of Laban Tall's bedroom, expectingSusan to open it; but nobody stirred. He went roundto the back door, which had been left unfastened forLaban's entry, and passed in to the foot of the stair-case.”Mrs. Tall, I've come for the key of the granary,to get at the rick-cloths.” said Oak, in a stentorianvoice.”Is that you?” said Mrs. Susan Tall, half awake.”Yes.” said Gabriel.”Come along to bed, do, you drawlatching rogue --keeping a body awake like this .””It isn't Laban -- 'tis Gabriel Oak. I want the keyof the granary.””Gabriel. what in the name of fortune did youpretend to be Laban for?””I didn't. I thought you meant -- -- ””Yes you did! what do you want here?””The key of the granary.””Take it then. 'Tis on the nail. People comingdisturbing women at this time of night ought -- -- ”Gabriel took the key, without waiting to hear theconclusion of the tirade. Ten minutes later his lonelyfigure might have been seen dragging four large water-proof coverings across the yard, and soon two of theseheaps of treasure in grain were covered snug -- two clothsto each. Two hundred pounds were secured. Threewheat-stacks remained open, and there were no morecloths. Oak looked under the staddles and found afork. He mounted the third pile of wealth and beganoperating, adopting the plan of sloping the uppersheaves one over the other; and, in addition, fillingthe interstices with the material of some untied sheaves.So far all was well. By this hurried contrivanceBathsheba's property in wheat was safe for at any ratea week or two, provided always that there was notmuch wind.Next came the barley. This it was only possible toprotect by systematic thatching. Time went on, andthe moon vanished not to reappear. It was thefarewell of the ambassador previous to war. Thenight had a haggard look, like a sick thing; and therecame finally an utter expiration of air from the wholeheaven in the form of a slow breeze, which might havebeen likened to a death. And now nothing was heardin the yard but the dull thuds of the beetle which drovein the spars, and the rustle of thatch in the intervals.
CHAPTER XXXVII
ONE night, at the end of August, when Bathsheba'sexperiences as a married woman were still new, andwhen the weather was yet dry and sultry, a man stoodmotionless in the stockyard of Weatherbury UpperFarm, looking at the moon and sky.The night had a sinister aspect. A heated breezefrom the south slowly fanned the summits of loftyobjects, and in the sky dashes of buoyant cloud weresailing in a course at right angles to that of anotherstratum, neither of them in the direction of the breezebelow. The moon, as seen through these films, hada lurid metallic look. The fields were sallow with theimpure light, and all were tinged in monochrome, asif beheld through stained glass. The same eveningthe sheep had trailed homeward head to tail, thebehaviour of the rooks had been confused, and thehorses had moved with timidity and caution.Thunder was imminent, and, taking some secondaryappearances into consideration, it was likely to befollowed by one of the lengthened rains which markthe close of dry weather for the season. Before twelvehours had passed a harvest atmosphere would be abygone thing.Oak gazed with misgiving at eight naked and un-protected ricks, massive and heavy with the richproduce of one-half the farm for that year. He wenton to the barn.This was the night which had been selected bySergeant Troy -- ruling now in the room of his wife --for giving the harvest supper and dance. As Oakapproached the building the sound of violins and atambourine, and the regular jigging of many feet, grewmore distinct. He came close to the large doors, oneof which stood slightly ajar, and looked in.The central space, together with the recess at oneend, was emptied of all incumbrances, and this area,covering about two-thirds of the whole, was appropriatedfor the gathering, the remaining end, which was piledto the ceiling with oats, being screened off with sail-cloth. Tufts and garlands of green foliage decoratedthe walls, beams, and extemporized chandeliers, andimmediately opposite to Oak a rostrum had beenerected, bearing a table and chairs. Here sat threefiddlers, and beside them stood a frantic man with hishair on end, perspiration streaming down his cheeks,and a tambourine quivering in his hand.The dance ended, and on the black oak floor in themidst a new row of couples formed for another.”Now, ma'am, and no offence I hope, I ask whatdance you would like next?” said the first violin.”Really, it makes no difference.” said the clear voiceof Bathsheba, who stood at the inner end of the build-ing, observing the scene from behind a table coveredwith cups and viands. Troy was lolling beside her.”Then.” said the fiddler, ”I'll venture to name thatthe right and proper thing is ”The Soldier's Joy” --there being a gallant soldier married into the farm --hey, my sonnies, and gentlemen all?””It shall be ”The Soldier's Joy,” exclaimed achorus.”Thanks for the compliment.” said the sergeantgaily, taking Bathsheba by the hand and leading herto the top of the dance. ”For though I have pur-chased my discharge from Her Most Gracious Majesty'sregiment of cavalry the 11th Dragoon Guards, to attendto the new duties awaiting me here, I shall continue asoldier in spirit and feeling as long as I live.”So the dance began. As to the merits of ”TheSoldier's Joy.” there cannot be, and never were, twoopinions. It has been observed in the musical circlesof Weatherbury and its vicinity that this melody, atthe end of three-quarters of an hour of thunderousfooting, still possesses more stimulative properties forthe heel and toe than the majority of other dances attheir first opening. ”The Soldier's Joy” has, too, anadditional charm, in being so admirably adapted tothe tambourine aforesaid -- no mean instrument in thehands of a performer who understands the properconvulsions, spasms, St. vitus's dances, and fearfulfrenzies necessary when exhibiting its tones in theirhighest perfection.The immortal tune ended, a fine DD rolling forthfrom the bass-viol with the sonorousness of a cannonade,and Gabriel delayed his entry no longer. He avoidedBathsheba, and got as near as possible to the platform,where Sergeant Troy was now seated, drinking brandy-and-water, though the others drank without exceptioncider and ale. Gabriel could not easily thrust himselfwithin speaking distance of the sergeant, and he senta message, asking him to come down for a moment.”The sergeant said he could not attend.”Will you tell him, then.” said Gabriel, ”that I onlystepped ath'art to say that a heavy rain is sure to fallsoon, and that something should be done to protectthe ricks?””M. Troy says it will not rain.” returned themessenger, ”and he cannot stop to talk to you aboutsuch fidgets.”In Juxtaposition with Troy, Oak had a melancholytendency to look like a candle beside gas, and ill atease, he went out again, thinking he would go home;for, under the circumstances, he had no heart for thescene in the barn. At the door he paused for amoment: Troy was speaking.”Friends, it is not only the harvest home that weare celebrating to-night; but this is also a WeddingFeast. A short time ago I had the happiness to leadto the altar this lady, your mistress, and not until nowhave we been able to give any public flourish to theevent in Weatherbury. That it may be thoroughlywell done, and that every man may go happy to bed,I have ordered to be brought here some bottles ofbrandy and kettles of hot water. A treble-stronggoblet will he handed round to each guest.”Bathsheba put her hand upon his arm, and, withupturned pale face, said imploringly,” No -- don't giveit to them -- pray don't, Frank! It will only do themharm: they have had enough of everything.””True -- we don't wish for no more, thank ye.” saidone or two.”Pooh!” said the sergeant contemptuously, andraised his voice as if lighted up by a new idea.”Friends.” he said,” we'll send the women-folk home!'Tis time they were in bed. Then we cockbirds willhave a jolly carouse to ourselves! If any of the menshow the white feather, let them look elsewhere for awinter's work.”Bathsheba indignantly left the barn, followed byall the women and children. The musicians, notlooking upon themselves as ”company.” slipped quietlyaway to their spring waggon and put in the horse.Thus Troy and the men on the farm were left soleoccupants of the place. Oak, not to appear unneces-sarily disagreeable, stayed a little while; then he, too,arose and quietly took his departure, followed by afriendly oath from the sergeant for not staying to asecond round of grog.Gabriel proceeded towards his home. In approach-ing the door, his toe kicked something which felt andsounded soft, leathery, and distended, like a boxing-glove. It was a large toad humbly travelling acrossthe path. Oak took it up, thinking it might be betterto kill the creature to save it from pain; but findingit uninjured, he placed it again among the grass. Heknew what this direct message from the Great Mothermeant. And soon came another.When he struck a light indoors there appeared uponthe table a thin glistening streak, as if a brush of varnishhad been lightly dragged across it. Oak's eyes followedthe serpentine sheen to the other side, where it led upto a huge brown garden-slug, which had come indoorsto-night for reasons of its own. It was Nature's secondway of hinting to him that he was to prepare for foulweather.Oak sat down meditating for nearly an hour.During this time two black spiders, of the kind commonin thatched houses, promenaded the ceiling, ultimatelydropping to the floor. This reminded him that if therewas one class of manifestation on this matter that hethoroughly understood, it was the instincts of sheep.He left the room, ran across two or three fields towardsthe flock, got upon a hedge, and looked over amongthem.They were crowded close together on the other sidearound some furze bushes, and the first peculiarity ob-servable was that, on the sudden appearance of Oak'shead over the fence, they did not stir or run away.They had now a terror of something greater than theirterror of man. But this was not the most noteworthyfeature: they were all grouped in such a way that theirtails, without a single exception, were towards that halfof the horizon from which the storm threatened. Therewas an inner circle closely huddled, and outside thesethey radiated wider apart, the pattern formed by theflock as a whole not being unlike a vandyked lacecollar, to which the clump of furze-bushes stood in theposition of a wearer's neck.opinion. He knew now that he was right, and thatTroy was wrong. Every voice in nature was unanimousin bespeaking change. But two distinct translationsattached to these dumb expressions. Apparently therewas to be a thunder-storm, and afterwards a cold con-tinuous rain. The creeping things seemed to know allabout the later rain, hut little of the interpolatedthunder-storm; whilst the sheep knew all about thethunder-storm and nothing of the later rain.This complication of weathers being uncommon,was all the more to be feared. Oak returned to thestack-yard. All was silent here, and the conical tips ofthe ricks jutted darkly into the sky. There were fivewheat-ricks in this yard, and three stacks of barley.The wheat when threshed would average about thirtyquarters to each stack; the barley, at least forty. Theirvalue to Bathsheba, and indeed to anybody, Oakmentally estimated by the following simple calcula-tion: --5 x 30 = 150 quarters= 500 L.3 x 40=120 quarters= 250 L.Total . . 750 L.Seven hundred and fifty pounds in the divinest formthat money can wear -- that of necessary food for manand beast: should the risk be run of deteriorating thisbulk of corn to less than half its value, because of theinstability of a woman?”Never, if I can prevent it!”said Gabriel.Such was the argument that Oak set outwardly beforehim. But man, even to himself, is a palimpsest, havingan ostensible writing, and another beneath the lines.It is possible that there was this golden legend underthe utilitarian one: ”I will help to my last effort thewoman I have loved so dearly.”He went back to the barn to endeavour to obtainassistance for covering the ricks that very night. Allwas silent within, and he would have passed on in thebelief that the party had broken up, had not a dimlight, yellow as saffron by contrast with the greenishwhiteness outside, streamed through a knot-hole in thefolding doors.Gabriel looked in. An unusual picture met his eye.The candles suspended among the evergreens hadburnt down to their sockets, and in some cases theleaves tied about them were scorched. Many of thelights had quite gone out, others smoked and stank,grease dropping from them upon the floor. Here,under the table, and leaning against forms and chairsin every conceivable attitude except the perpendicular,!”were the wretched persons of all the work-folk, the hairof their heads at such low levels being suggestive ofmops and brooms. In the midst of these shone redand distinct the figure of Sergeant Troy, leaning backin a chair. Coggan was on his back, with his mouthopen, huzzing forth snores, as were several others; theunited breathings of the horizonal assemblage forminga subdued roar like London from a distance. JosephPoorgrass was curled round in the fashion of a hedge-hog, apparently in attempts to present the least possibleportion of his surface to the air; and behind him wasdimly visible an unimportant remnant of William Small-bury. The glasses and cups still stood upon the table,a water-jug being overturned, from which a small rill,after tracing its course with marvellous precision downthe centre of the long table, fell into the neck of theunconscious Mark Clark, in a steady, monotonous drip,like the dripping of a stalactite in a cave.Gabriel glanced hopelessly at the group, which, withone or two exceptions, composed all the able-bodiedmen upon the farm. He saw at once that if the rickswere to be saved that night, or even the next morning,he must save them with his own hands.A faint ”ting-ting” resounded from under Coggan'swaistcoat. It was Coggan's watch striking the hour oftwo.Oak went to the recumbent form of Matthew Moon,who usually undertook the rough thatching of the home-stead, and shook him. The shaking was without effect.Gabriel shouted in his ear, ”where's your thatching-beetle and rick-stick and spars?””Under the staddles.” said Moon, mechanically, withthe unconscious promptness of a medium.Gabriel let go his head, and it dropped upon thefloor like a bowl. He then went to Susan Tall'shusband.”where's the key of the granary?”No answer. The question was repeated, with thesame result. To be shouted to at night was evidentlyless of a novelty to Susan Tall's husband than toMatthew Moon. Oak flung down Tall's head into thecorner again and turned away.To be just, the men were not greatly to blame forthis painful and demoralizing termination to theevening's entertainment. Sergeant Troy had so strenu-ously insisted, glass in hand, that drinking should bethe bond of their union, that those who wished to refusehardly liked to be so unmannerly under the circum-stances. Having from their youth up been entirely un-accustomed to any liquor stronger than cider or mildale, it was no wonder that they had succumbed, oneand all, with extraordinary uniformity, after the lapse ofabout an hour.Gabriel was greatly depressed. This debauch bodedill for that wilful and fascinating mistress whom thefaithful man even now felt within him as the embodi-ment of all that was sweet and bright and hopeless.He put out the expiring lights, that the barn mightnot be endangered, closed the door upon the men intheir deep and oblivious sleep, and went again into thelone night. A hot breeze, as if breathed from theparted lips of some dragon about to swallow the globe,fanned him from the south, while directly opposite inthe north rose a grim misshapen body of cloud, in thevery teeth of the wind. So unnaturally did it rise thatone could fancy it to be lifted by machinery from below.Meanwhile the faint cloudlets had flown back into thesouth-east corner of the sky, as if in terror of the largecloud, like a young brood gazed in upon by somemonster.Going on to the village, Oak flung a small stoneagainst the window of Laban Tall's bedroom, expectingSusan to open it; but nobody stirred. He went roundto the back door, which had been left unfastened forLaban's entry, and passed in to the foot of the stair-case.”Mrs. Tall, I've come for the key of the granary,to get at the rick-cloths.” said Oak, in a stentorianvoice.”Is that you?” said Mrs. Susan Tall, half awake.”Yes.” said Gabriel.”Come along to bed, do, you drawlatching rogue --keeping a body awake like this .””It isn't Laban -- 'tis Gabriel Oak. I want the keyof the granary.””Gabriel. what in the name of fortune did youpretend to be Laban for?””I didn't. I thought you meant -- -- ””Yes you did! what do you want here?””The key of the granary.””Take it then. 'Tis on the nail. People comingdisturbing women at this time of night ought -- -- ”Gabriel took the key, without waiting to hear theconclusion of the tirade. Ten minutes later his lonelyfigure might have been seen dragging four large water-proof coverings across the yard, and soon two of theseheaps of treasure in grain were covered snug -- two clothsto each. Two hundred pounds were secured. Threewheat-stacks remained open, and there were no morecloths. Oak looked under the staddles and found afork. He mounted the third pile of wealth and beganoperating, adopting the plan of sloping the uppersheaves one over the other; and, in addition, fillingthe interstices with the material of some untied sheaves.So far all was well. By this hurried contrivanceBathsheba's property in wheat was safe for at any ratea week or two, provided always that there was notmuch wind.Next came the barley. This it was only possible toprotect by systematic thatching. Time went on, andthe moon vanished not to reappear. It was thefarewell of the ambassador previous to war. Thenight had a haggard look, like a sick thing; and therecame finally an utter expiration of air from the wholeheaven in the form of a slow breeze, which might havebeen likened to a death. And now nothing was heardin the yard but the dull thuds of the beetle which drovein the spars, and the rustle of thatch in the intervals.
CHAPTER XXXVII