''My grandfather used to go to Conjuror Mynterne, out at Owlscombe, and a clever
man a' were, so I've heard grandf'er say,'' continued Mr Crick. ''But there's no
such genuine folk about nowadays!''
Mrs Crick's mind kept nearer to the matter
''Perhaps somebody in the house is in love,'' she said tentatively. ''I've heard
tell in my younger days that that will cause it. Why, Crick-that maid we had years
ago, do ye mind, and how the butter didn't come then-''
''Ah yes, yes!-but that isn't the rights o't. It had nothing to do with the love-making.
I can mind all about it-'twas the damage to the churn.''
He turned to Clare.
''Jack Dollop, a 'hore's-bird of a fellow we had here as milker at one time,
sir, courted a young woman over at Mellstock, and deceived her as he had deceived
many afore. But he had another sort o' woman to reckon wi' this time, and it was
not the girl herself. One Holy Thursday of all days in the almanack, we was here
as we mid be now, only there was no churning in hand, when we zid the girl's mother
coming up to the door, wi' a great brass-mounted umbrella in her hand that would
ha' felled an ox, and saying 'Do Jack Dollop work here?-because I want him! I have
a big bone to pick with he, I can assure 'n!' And some way behind her mother walked
Jack's young woman, crying bitterly into her handkercher. 'O Lard, here's a time!'
said Jack, looking out o' winder at 'em. 'She'll murder me! Where shall I get-where
shall I-? Don't tell her where I be!' And with that he scrambled into the churn
through the trap-door, and shut himself inside, just as the young woman's mother
busted into the milk-house. 'The villain-where is he?' says she, 'I'll claw his
face for'n, let me only catch him!' Well, she hunted about everywhere, ballyragging
Jack by side and by seam, Jack lying a'most stifled inside the churn, and the poor
maid-or young woman rather-standing at the door crying her eyes out. I shall never
forget it, never! 'Twould have melted a marble stone! But she couldn't find him
nowhere at all.''
The dairyman paused, and one or two words of comment came from the listeners.
Dairyman Crick's stories often seemed to be ended when they were not really so,
and strangers were betrayed into premature interjections of finality; though old
friends knew better. The narrator went on-
''Well, how the old woman should have had the wit to guess it I could never tell,
but she found out that he was inside that there churn. Without saying a word she
took hold of the winch (it was turned by handpower then), and round she swung him,
and Jack began to flop about inside. 'O Lard! stop the churn! let me out!' says
he, popping out his head, 'I shall be churned into a pummy!' (he was a cowardly
chap in his heart, as such men mostly be). 'Not till ye make amends for ravaging
her virgin innocence!' says the old woman. 'Stop the churn you old witch!' screams
he. 'You call me old witch, do ye, you deceiver!' says she, 'when ye ought to ha'
been calling me mother-law these last five months!' And on went the churn, and Jack's
bones rattled round again. Well, none of us ventured to interfere; and at last 'a
promised to make it right wi' her. 'Yes-I'll be as good as my word!' he said. And
so it ended that day.''
While the listeners were smiling their comments there was a quick movement behind
their backs, and they looked round. Tess, pale-faced, had gone to the door.
''How warm 'tis today!'' she said, almost inaudibly.
It was warm, and none of them connected her withdrawal with the reminiscences
of the dairyman. He went forward and opened the door for her, saying with tender
''Why, maidy'' (he frequently, with unconscious irony, gave her this pet name),
''the prettiest milker I've got in my dairy; you mustn't get so fagged as this at
the first breath of summer weather, or we shall be finely put to for want of 'ee
by dog-days, shan't we, Mr Clare?''
''I was faint-and-I think I am better out o' doors,'' she said mechanically;
and disappeared outside.
Fortunately for her the milk in the revolving churn at that moment changed its
squashing for a decided flick-flack.
'''Tis coming!'' cried Mrs Crick, and the attention of all was called off from
That fair sufferer soon recovered herself externally; but she remained much depressed
all the afternoon. When the evening milking was done she did not care to be with
the rest of them, and went out of doors wandering along she knew not whither. She
was wretched-O so wretched-at the perception that to her companions the dairyman's
story had been rather a humorous narration than otherwise; none of them but herself
seemed to see the sorrow of it; to a certainty, not one knew how cruelly it touched
the tender place in her experience. The evening sun was now ugly to her, like a
great inflamed wound in the sky. Only a solitary cracked-voice reed-sparrow greeted
her from the bushes by the river, in a sad, machine-made tone, resembling that of
a past friend whose friendship she had outworn.
In these long June days the milkmaids, and, indeed, most of the household, went
to bed at sunset or sooner, the morning work before milking being so early and heavy
at a time of full pairs. Tess usually accompanied her fellows upstairs. Tonight,
however, she was the first to go to their common chamber; and she had dozed when
the other girls came in. She saw them undressing in the orange light of the vanished
sun, which flushed their forms with its colour; she dozed again, but she was reawakened
by their voices, and quietly turned her eyes towards them.
Neither of her three chamber-companions had got into bed. They were standing
in a group, in their nightgowns, barefooted, at the window, the last red rays of
the west still warming their faces and necks, and the walls around them. All were
watching somebody in the garden with deep interest, their three faces close together:
a jovial and round one, a pale one with dark hair, and a fair one whose tresses
''Don't push! You can see as well as I,'' said Retty, the auburn-haired and youngest
girl, without removing her eyes from the window.
'''Tis no use for you to be in love with him any more than me, Retty Priddle,''
said jolly-faced Marian, the eldest, slily. ''His thoughts be of other cheeks than
Retty Priddle still looked, and the other looked again.
''There he is again!'' cried Izz Huett, the pale girl with dark damp hair and
keenly cut lips.
''You needn't say anything, Izz,'' answered Retty. ''For I zid you kissing his
''WHAT did you see her doing?'' asked Marian.
''Why-he was standing over the whey-tub to let off the whey, and the shade of
his face came upon the wall behind, close to Izz, who was standing there filling
a vat. She put her mouth against the wall and kissed the shade of his mouth; I zid
her, though he didn't.''
''O Izz Huett!'' said Marian.
A rosy spot came into the middle of Izz Huett's cheek.
''Well, there was no harm in it,'' she declared, with attempted coolness. ''And
if I be in love wi'en, so is Retty, too; and so be you, Marian, come to that.''
Marian's full face could not blush past its chronic pinkness.
''I!'' she said. ''What a tale! Ah, there he is again! Dear eyes-dear face-dear
''There-you've owned it!''
''So have you-so have we all,'' said Marian, with the dry frankness of complete
indifference to opinion. ''It is silly to pretend otherwise amongst ourselves, though
we need not own it to other folks. I would just marry 'n to-morrow!''
''So would I-and more,'' murmured Izz Huett.
''And I too,'' whispered the more timid Retty.
The listener grew warm.
''We can't all marry him,'' said Izz.
''We shan't, either of us; which is worse still,'' said the eldest. ''There he
They all three blew him a silent kiss.
''Why?'' asked Retty quickly.
''Because he likes Tess Durbeyfield best,'' said Marian, lowering her voice.
''I have watched him every day, and have found it out.''
There was a reflective silence.
''But she don't care anything for 'n?'' at length breathed Retty.
''Well-I sometimes think that too.''
''But how silly all this is!'' said Izz Huett impatiently. ''Of course he won't
marry any one of us, or Tess either-a gentleman's son, who's going to be a great
landowner and farmer abroad! More likely to ask us to come wi'en as farm-hands at
so much a year!''
One sighed, and another sighed, and Marian's plump figure sighed biggest of all.
Somebody in bed hard by sighed too. Tears came into the eyes of Retty Priddle, the
pretty red-haired youngest-the last bud of the Paridelles, so important in the county
annals. They watched silently a little longer, their three faces still close together
as before, and the triple hues of their hair mingling. But the unconscious Mr Clare
had gone indoors, and they saw him no more; and, the shades beginning to deepen,
they crept into their beds. In a few minutes they heard him ascend the ladder to
his own room. Marian was soon snoring, but Izz did not drop into forgetfulness for
a long time. Retty Priddle cried herself to sleep.
The deeper-passioned Tess was very far from sleeping even then. This conversation
was another of the bitter pills she had been obliged to swallow that day. Scarce
the least feeling of jealousy arose in her breast. For that matter she knew herself
to have the preference. Being more finely formed, better educated, and, though the
youngest except Retty, more woman than either, she perceived that only the slightest
ordinary care was necessary for holding her own in Angel Clare's heart against these
her candid friends. But the grave question was, ought she to do this? There was,
to be sure, hardly a ghost of a chance for either of them, in a serious sense; but
there was, or had been, a chance of one or the other inspiring him with a passing
fancy for her, and enjoying the pleasure of his attentions while he stayed here.
Such unequal attachments had led to marriage; and she had heard from Mrs Crick that
Mr Clare had one day asked, in a laughing way, what would be the use of his marrying
a fine lady, and all the while ten thousand acres of Colonial pasture to feed, and
cattle to rear, and corn to reap. A farm-woman would be the only sensible kind of
wife for him. But whether Mr Clare had spoken seriously or not, why should she,
who could never conscientiously allow any man to marry her now, and who had religiously
determined that she never would be tempted to do so, draw off Mr Clare's attention
from other women, for the brief happiness of sunning herself in his eyes while he
remained at Talbothays?
They came downstairs yawning next morning; but skimming and milking were proceeded
with as usual, and they went indoors to breakfast. Dairyman Crick was discovered
stamping about the house. He had received a letter, in which a customer had complained
that the butter had a twang.
''And begad, so 't have!'' said the dairyman, who held in his left hand a wooden
slice on which a lump of butter was stuck. ''Yes-taste for yourself!''
Several of them gathered round him; and Mr Clare tasted, Tess tasted, also the
other indoor milkmaids, one or two of the milking-men, and last of all Mrs Crick,
who came out from the waiting breakfast-table. There certainly was a twang.
The dairyman, who had thrown himself into abstraction to better realize the taste,
and so divine the particular species of noxious weed to which it appertained, suddenly
'''Tis garlic! and I thought there wasn't a blade left in that mead!''
Then all the old hands remembered that a certain dry mead, into which a few of
the cows had been admitted of late, had, in years gone by, spoilt the butter in
the same way. The dairyman had not recognized the taste at that time, and thought
the butter bewitched.
''We must overhaul that mead,'' he resumed; ''this mustn't continny!''
All having armed themselves with old pointed knives they went out together. As
the inimical plant could only be present in very microscopic dimensions to have
escaped ordinary observation, to find it seemed rather a hopeless attempt in the
stretch of rich grass before them. However, they formed themselves into line, all
assisting, owing to the importance of the search; the dairyman at the upper end
with Mr Clare, who had volunteered to help; then Tess, Marian, Izz Huett, and Retty;
then Bill Lewell, Jonathan, and the married dairywomen-Beck Knibbs, with her wooly
black hair and rolling eyes; and flaxen Frances, consumptive from the winter damps
of the water-meads-who lived in their respective cottages.
With eyes fixed upon the ground they crept slowly across a strip of the field,
returning a little further down in such a manner that, when they should have finished,
not a single inch of the pasture but would have fallen under the eye of some one
of them. It was a most tedious business, not more than half a dozen shoots of garlic
being discoverable in the whole field; yet such was the herb's pungency that probably
one bite of it by one cow had been sufficient to season the whole dairy's produce
for the day.
Differing one from another in natures and moods so greatly as they did, they
yet formed, bending, a curiously uniform row-automatic, noiseless; and an alien
observer passing down the neighbouring lane might well have been excused for massing
them as ''Hodge''. As they crept along, stooping low to discern the plant, a soft
yellow gleam was reflected from the buttercups into their shaded faces, giving them
an elfish, moonlit aspect, though the sun was pouring upon their backs in all the
strength of noon.