"Sweet-oil-and-hartshorn I've found to be a good thing to cure stings, Miss Day," said **** with greater concern.
"We have some mixed indoors; would you kindly run and get it for me?" she said.
Now, whether by inadvertence, or whether by mischievous intention, the individuality of the YOU was so carelessly denoted that both **** and Shiner sprang to their feet like twin acrobats, and marched abreast to the door; both seized the latch and lifted it, and continued marching on, shoulder to shoulder, in the same manner to the dwelling-house. Not only so, but entering the room, they marched as before straight up to Mrs. Day's chair, letting the door in the oak partition slam so forcibly, that the rows of pewter on the dresser rang like a bell.
"Mrs. Day, Fancy has stung her lip, and wants you to give me the hartshorn, please," said Mr. Shiner, very close to Mrs. Day's face.
"O, Mrs. Day, Fancy has asked me to bring out the hartshorn, please, because she has stung her lip!" said ****, a little closer to Mrs.
Day's face.
"Well, men alive! that's no reason why you should eat me, I suppose!" said Mrs. Day, drawing back.
She searched in the corner-cupboard, produced the bottle, and began to dust the cork, the rim, and every other part very carefully, ****'s hand and Shiner's hand waiting side by side.
"Which is head man?" said Mrs. Day. "Now, don't come mumbudgeting so close again. Which is head man?"
Neither spoke; and the bottle was inclined towards Shiner. Shiner, as a high-class man, would not look in the least triumphant, and turned to go off with it as Geoffrey came downstairs after the search in his linen for concealed bees.
"O--that you, Master Dewy?"
**** assured the keeper that it was; and the young man then determined upon a bold stroke for the attainment of his end, forgetting that the worst of bold strokes is the disastrous consequences they involve if they fail.
"I've come on purpose to speak to you very particular, Mr. Day," he said, with a crushing emphasis intended for the ears of Mr. Shiner, who was vanishing round the door-post at that moment.
"Well, I've been forced to go upstairs and unrind myself, and shake some bees out o' me" said Geoffrey, walking slowly towards the open door, and standing on the threshold. "The young rascals got into my shirt and wouldn't be quiet nohow."
**** followed him to the door.
"I've come to speak a word to you," he repeated, looking out at the pale mist creeping up from the gloom of the valley. "You may perhaps guess what it is about."
The keeper lowered his hands into the depths of his pockets, twirled his eyes, balanced himself on his toes, looked as perpendicularly downward as if his glance were a plumb-line, then horizontally, collecting together the cracks that lay about his face till they were all in the neighbourhood of his eyes.
"Maybe I don't know," he replied.
**** said nothing; and the stillness was disturbed only by some small bird that was being killed by an owl in the adjoining wood, whose cry passed into the silence without mingling with it.
"I've left my hat up in chammer," said Geoffrey; "wait while I step up and get en."
"I'll be in the garden," said ****.
He went round by a side wicket into the garden, and Geoffrey went upstairs. It was the custom in Mellstock and its vicinity to discuss matters of pleasure and ordinary business inside the house, and to reserve the garden for very important affairs: a custom which, as is supposed, originated in the desirability of getting away at such times from the other members of the family when there was only one room for living in, though it was now quite as frequently practised by those who suffered from no such limitation to the size of their domiciles.
The head-keeper's form appeared in the dusky garden, and **** walked towards him. The elder paused and leant over the rail of a piggery that stood on the left of the path, upon which **** did the same; and they both contemplated a whitish shadowy shape that was moving about and grunting among the straw of the interior.
"I've come to ask for Fancy," said ****.
"I'd as lief you hadn't."
"Why should that be, Mr. Day?"
"Because it makes me say that you've come to ask what ye be'n't likely to have. Have ye come for anything else?"
"Nothing."
"Then I'll just tell 'ee you've come on a very foolish errand. D'ye know what her mother was?"
"No."
"A teacher in a landed family's nursery, who was foolish enough to marry the keeper of the same establishment; for I was only a keeper then, though now I've a dozen other irons in the fire as steward here for my lord, what with the timber sales and the yearly fellings, and the gravel and sand sales and one thing and 'tother.
However, d'ye think Fancy picked up her good manners, the smooth turn of her tongue, her musical notes, and her knowledge of books, in a homely hole like this?"
"No."
"D'ye know where?"
"No."
"Well, when I went a-wandering after her mother's death, she lived with her aunt, who kept a boarding-school, till her aunt married Lawyer Green--a man as sharp as a needle--and the school was broke up. Did ye know that then she went to the training-school, and that her name stood first among the Queen's scholars of her year?"
"I've heard so."
"And that when she sat for her certificate as Government teacher, she had the highest of the first class?"
"Yes."
"Well, and do ye know what I live in such a miserly way for when I've got enough to do without it, and why I make her work as a schoolmistress instead of living here?"
"No."
"That if any gentleman, who sees her to be his equal in polish, should want to marry her, and she want to marry him, he sha'n't be superior to her in pocket. Now do ye think after this that you be good enough for her?"
"No."
"Then good-night t'ee, Master Dewy."
"Good-night, Mr. Day."
Modest ****'s reply had faltered upon his tongue, and he turned away wondering at his presumption in asking for a woman whom he had seen from the beginning to be so superior to him.
