by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER III: THE ASSEMBLED QUIRE
William Dewy--otherwise grandfather William--was now about seventy; yetan ardent vitality still preserved a warm and roughened bloom upon hisface, which reminded gardeners of the sunny side of a riperibstone-pippin; though a narrow strip of forehead, that was protectedfrom the weather by lying above the line of his hat-brim, seemed tobelong to some town man, so gentlemanly was its whiteness. His was ahumorous and kindly nature, not unmixed with a frequent melancholy; andhe had a firm religious faith. But to his neighbours he had no characterin particular. If they saw him pass by their windows when they had beenbottling off old mead, or when they had just been called long-headed menwho might do anything in the world if they chose, they thought concerninghim, "Ah, there's that good-hearted man--open as a child!" If they sawhim just after losing a shilling or half-a-crown, or accidentally lettingfall a piece of crockery, they thought, "There's that poor weak-mindedman Dewy again! Ah, he's never done much in the world either!" If hepassed when fortune neither smiled nor frowned on them, they merelythought him old William Dewy.
"Ah, so's--here you be!--Ah, Michael and Joseph and John--and you too,Leaf! a merry Christmas all! We shall have a rare log-wood firedirectly, Reub, to reckon by the toughness of the job I had in cleaving'em." As he spoke he threw down an armful of logs which fell in thechimney-corner with a rumble, and looked at them with something of theadmiring enmity he would have bestowed on living people who had been veryobstinate in holding their own. "Come in, grandfather James."
Old James (grandfather on the maternal side) had simply called as avisitor. He lived in a cottage by himself, and many people consideredhim a miser; some, rather slovenly in his habits. He now came forwardfrom behind grandfather William, and his stooping figure formed a well-illuminated picture as he passed towards the fire-place. Being by tradea mason, he wore a long linen apron reaching almost to his toes, corduroybreeches and gaiters, which, together with his boots, graduated in tintsof whitish-brown by constant friction against lime and stone. He alsowore a very stiff fustian coat, having folds at the elbows and shouldersas unvarying in their arrangement as those in a pair of bellows: theridges and the projecting parts of the coat collectively exhibiting ashade different from that of the hollows, which were lined with smallditch-like accumulations of stone and mortar-dust. The extremely largeside-pockets, sheltered beneath wide flaps, bulged out convexly whetherempty or full; and as he was often engaged to work at buildings faraway--his breakfasts and dinners being eaten in a strange chimney-corner,by a garden wall, on a heap of stones, or walking along the road--hecarried in these pockets a small tin canister of butter, a small canisterof sugar, a small canister of tea, a paper of salt, and a paper ofpepper; the bread, cheese, and meat, forming the substance of his meals,hanging up behind him in his basket among the hammers and chisels. If apasser-by looked hard at him when he was drawing forth any of these, "Mybuttery," he said, with a pinched smile.
"Better try over number seventy-eight before we start, I suppose?" saidWilliam, pointing to a heap of old Christmas-carol books on a side table.
"Wi' all my heart," said the choir generally.
"Number seventy-eight was always a teaser--always. I can mind him eversince I was growing up a hard boy-chap."
"But he's a good tune, and worth a mint o' practice," said Michael.
"He is; though I've been mad enough wi' that tune at times to seize enand tear en all to linnit. Ay, he's a splendid carrel--there's nodenying that."
"The first line is well enough," said Mr. Spinks; "but when you come to'O, thou man,' you make a mess o't."
"We'll have another go into en, and see what we can make of the martel.Half-an-hour's hammering at en will conquer the toughness of en; I'llwarn it."
"'Od rabbit it all!" said Mr. Penny, interrupting with a flash of hisspectacles, and at the same time clawing at something in the depths of alarge side-pocket. "If so be I hadn't been as scatter-brained andthirtingill as a chiel, I should have called at the schoolhouse wi' aboot as I cam up along. Whatever is coming to me I really can't estimateat all!"
"The brain has its weaknesses," murmured Mr. Spinks, waving his headominously. Mr. Spinks was considered to be a scholar, having once kept anight-school, and always spoke up to that level.
"Well, I must call with en the first thing to-morrow. And I'll empt mypocket o' this last too, if you don't mind, Mrs. Dewy." He drew forth alast, and placed it on a table at his elbow. The eyes of three or fourfollowed it.
"Well," said the shoemaker, seeming to perceive that the interest theobject had excited was greater than he had anticipated, and warranted thelast's being taken up again and exhibited; "now, whose foot do ye supposethis last was made for? It was made for Geoffrey Day's father, over atYalbury Wood. Ah, many's the pair o' boots he've had off the last! Well,when 'a died, I used the last for Geoffrey, and have ever since, though alittle doctoring was wanted to make it do. Yes, a very queer naturedlast it is now, 'a b'lieve," he continued, turning it over caressingly."Now, you notice that there" (pointing to a lump of leather bradded tothe toe), "that's a very bad bunion that he've had ever since 'a was aboy. Now, this remarkable large piece" (pointing to a patch nailed tothe side), "shows a' accident he received by the tread of a horse, thatsquashed his foot a'most to a pomace. The horseshoe cam full-butt onthis point, you see. And so I've just been over to Geoffrey's, to knowif he wanted his bunion altered or made bigger in the new pair I'mmaking."
During the latter part of this speech, Mr. Penny's left hand wanderedtowards the cider-cup, as if the hand had no connection with the personspeaking; and bringing his sentence to an abrupt close, all but theextreme margin of the bootmaker's face was eclipsed by the circular brimof the vessel.
"However, I was going to say," continued Penny, putting down the cup, "Iought to have called at the school"--here he went groping again in thedepths of his pocket--"to leave this without fail, though I suppose thefirst thing to-morrow will do."
He now drew forth and placed upon the table a boot--small, light, andprettily shaped--upon the heel of which he had been operating.
"The new schoolmistress's!"
"Ay, no less, Miss Fancy Day; as neat a little figure of fun as ever Isee, and just husband-high."
"Never Geoffrey's daughter Fancy?" said Bowman, as all glances presentconverged like wheel-spokes upon the boot in the centre of them.
"Yes, sure," resumed Mr. Penny, regarding the boot as if that alone werehis auditor; "'tis she that's come here schoolmistress. You knowed hisdaughter was in training?"
"Strange, isn't it, for her to be here Christmas night, Master Penny?"
"Yes; but here she is, 'a b'lieve."
"I know how she comes here--so I do!" chirruped one of the children.
"Why?" Dick inquired, with subtle interest.
"Pa'son Maybold was afraid he couldn't manage us all to-morrow at thedinner, and he talked o' getting her jist to come over and help him handabout the plates, and see we didn't make pigs of ourselves; and that'swhat she's come for!"
"And that's the boot, then," continued its mender imaginatively, "thatshe'll walk to church in to-morrow morning. I don't care to mend boots Idon't make; but there's no knowing what it may lead to, and her fatheralways comes to me."
There, between the cider-mug and the candle, stood this interestingreceptacle of the little unknown's foot; and a very pretty boot it was. Acharacter, in fact--the flexible bend at the instep, the roundedlocalities of the small nestling toes, scratches from careless scampersnow forgotten--all, as repeated in the tell-tale leather, evidencing anature and a bias. Dick surveyed it with a delicate feeling that he hadno right to do so without having first asked the owner of the foot'spermission.
"Now, neighbours, though no common eye can see it," the shoemaker wenton, "a man in the trade can see the likeness between this boot and thatlast, although that is so deformed as hardly to recall one of God'screatures, and this is one of as pretty a pair as you'd get f
or ten-and-sixpence in Casterbridge. To you, nothing; but 'tis father's voot anddaughter's voot to me, as plain as houses."
"I don't doubt there's a likeness, Master Penny--a mild likeness--afantastical likeness," said Spinks. "But I han't got imagination enoughto see it, perhaps."
Mr. Penny adjusted his spectacles.
"Now, I'll tell ye what happened to me once on this very point. You usedto know Johnson the dairyman, William?"
"Ay, sure; I did."
"Well, 'twasn't opposite his house, but a little lower down--by hispaddock, in front o' Parkmaze Pool. I was a-bearing across towardsBloom's End, and lo and behold, there was a man just brought out o' thePool, dead; he had un'rayed for a dip, but not being able to pitch itjust there had gone in flop over his head. Men looked at en; womenlooked at en; children looked at en; nobody knowed en. He was coveredwi' a sheet; but I catched sight of his voot, just showing out as theycarried en along. 'I don't care what name that man went by,' I said, inmy way, 'but he's John Woodward's brother; I can swear to the familyvoot.' At that very moment up comes John Woodward, weeping and teaving,'I've lost my brother! I've lost my brother!'"
"Only to think of that!" said Mrs. Dewy.
"'Tis well enough to know this foot and that foot," said Mr. Spinks."'Tis long-headed, in fact, as far as feet do go. I know little, 'tistrue--I say no more; but show me a man's foot, and I'll tell you thatman's heart."
"You must be a cleverer feller, then, than mankind in jineral," said thetranter.
"Well, that's nothing for me to speak of," returned Mr. Spinks. "A manlives and learns. Maybe I've read a leaf or two in my time. I don'twish to say anything large, mind you; but nevertheless, maybe I have."
"Yes, I know," said Michael soothingly, "and all the parish knows, thatye've read sommat of everything a'most, and have been a great filler ofyoung folks' brains. Learning's a worthy thing, and ye've got it, MasterSpinks."
"I make no boast, though I may have read and thought a little; and Iknow--it may be from much perusing, but I make no boast--that by the timea man's head is finished, 'tis almost time for him to creep underground.I am over forty-five."
Mr. Spinks emitted a look to signify that if his head was not finished,nobody's head ever could be.
"Talk of knowing people by their feet!" said Reuben. "Rot me, mysonnies, then, if I can tell what a man is from all his members puttogether, oftentimes."
"But still, look is a good deal," observed grandfather William absently,moving and balancing his head till the tip of grandfather James's nosewas exactly in a right line with William's eye and the mouth of aminiature cavern he was discerning in the fire. "By the way," hecontinued in a fresher voice, and looking up, "that young crater, theschoolmis'ess, must be sung to to-night wi' the rest? If her ear is asfine as her face, we shall have enough to do to be up-sides with her."
"What about her face?" said young Dewy.
"Well, as to that," Mr. Spinks replied, "'tis a face you can hardlygainsay. A very good pink face, as far as that do go. Still, only aface, when all is said and done."
"Come, come, Elias Spinks, say she's a pretty maid, and have done wi'her," said the tranter, again preparing to visit the cider-barrel.
