by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER IV: THE SPELL
Mrs. Endorfield's advice was duly followed.
"I be proper sorry that your daughter isn't so well as she might be,"said a Mellstock man to Geoffrey one morning.
"But is there anything in it?" said Geoffrey uneasily, as he shifted hishat to the right. "I can't understand the report. She didn't complainto me a bit when I saw her."
"No appetite at all, they say."
Geoffrey crossed to Mellstock and called at the school that afternoon.Fancy welcomed him as usual, and asked him to stay and take tea with her.
"I be'n't much for tea, this time o' day," he said, but stayed.
During the meal he watched her narrowly. And to his great consternationdiscovered the following unprecedented change in the healthy girl--thatshe cut herself only a diaphanous slice of bread-and-butter, and, layingit on her plate, passed the meal-time in breaking it into pieces, buteating no more than about one-tenth of the slice. Geoffrey hoped shewould say something about Dick, and finish up by weeping, as she had doneafter the decision against him a few days subsequent to the interview inthe garden. But nothing was said, and in due time Geoffrey departedagain for Yalbury Wood.
"'Tis to be hoped poor Miss Fancy will be able to keep on her school,"said Geoffrey's man Enoch to Geoffrey the following week, as they wereshovelling up ant-hills in the wood.
Geoffrey stuck in the shovel, swept seven or eight ants from his sleeve,and killed another that was prowling round his ear, then lookedperpendicularly into the earth as usual, waiting for Enoch to say more."Well, why shouldn't she?" said the keeper at last.
"The baker told me yesterday," continued Enoch, shaking out another emmetthat had run merrily up his thigh, "that the bread he've left at thatthere school-house this last month would starve any mouse in the threecreations; that 'twould so! And afterwards I had a pint o' small down atMorrs's, and there I heard more."
"What might that ha' been?"
"That she used to have a pound o' the best rolled butter a week, regularas clockwork, from Dairyman Viney's for herself, as well as just so muchsalted for the helping girl, and the 'ooman she calls in; but now thesame quantity d'last her three weeks, and then 'tis thoughted she throwsit away sour."
"Finish doing the emmets, and carry the bag home-along." The keeperresumed his gun, tucked it under his arm, and went on without whistlingto the dogs, who however followed, with a bearing meant to imply thatthey did not expect any such attentions when their master was reflecting.
On Saturday morning a note came from Fancy. He was not to trouble aboutsending her the couple of rabbits, as was intended, because she fearedshe should not want them. Later in the day Geoffrey went to Casterbridgeand called upon the butcher who served Fancy with fresh meat, which wasput down to her father's account.
"I've called to pay up our little bill, Neighbour Haylock, and you cangie me the chiel's account at the same time."
Mr. Haylock turned round three quarters of a circle in the midst of aheap of joints, altered the expression of his face from meat to money,went into a little office consisting only of a door and a window, lookedvery vigorously into a book which possessed length but no breadth; andthen, seizing a piece of paper and scribbling thereupon, handed the bill.
Probably it was the first time in the history of commercial transactionsthat the quality of shortness in a butcher's bill was a cause oftribulation to the debtor. "Why, this isn't all she've had in a wholemonth!" said Geoffrey.
"Every mossel," said the butcher--"(now, Dan, take that leg and shoulderto Mrs. White's, and this eleven pound here to Mr. Martin's)--you've beentreating her to smaller joints lately, to my thinking, Mr. Day?"
"Only two or three little scram rabbits this last week, as I am alive--Iwish I had!"
"Well, my wife said to me--(Dan! not too much, not too much on that trayat a time; better go twice)--my wife said to me as she posted up thebooks: she says, 'Miss Day must have been affronted this summer duringthat hot muggy weather that spolit so much for us; for depend upon't,'she says, 'she've been trying John Grimmett unknown to us: see heraccount else.' 'Tis little, of course, at the best of times, being onlyfor one, but now 'tis next kin to nothing."
"I'll inquire," said Geoffrey despondingly.
He returned by way of Mellstock, and called upon Fancy, in fulfilment ofa promise. It being Saturday, the children were enjoying a holiday, andon entering the residence Fancy was nowhere to be seen. Nan, thecharwoman, was sweeping the kitchen.
"Where's my da'ter?" said the keeper.
"Well, you see she was tired with the week's teaching, and this morningshe said, 'Nan, I sha'n't get up till the evening.' You see, Mr. Day, ifpeople don't eat, they can't work; and as she've gie'd up eating, shemust gie up working."
"Have ye carried up any dinner to her?"
"No; she don't want any. There, we all know that such things don't comewithout good reason--not that I wish to say anything about a brokenheart, or anything of the kind."
Geoffrey's own heart felt inconveniently large just then. He went to thestaircase and ascended to his daughter's door.
"Fancy!"
"Come in, father."
To see a person in bed from any cause whatever, on a fine afternoon, isdepressing enough; and here was his only child Fancy, not only in bed,but looking very pale. Geoffrey was visibly disturbed.
"Fancy, I didn't expect to see thee here, chiel," he said. "What's thematter?"
"I'm not well, father."
"How's that?"
"Because I think of things."
"What things can you have to think o' so mortal much?"
"You know, father."
"You think I've been cruel to thee in saying that that penniless Dick o'thine sha'n't marry thee, I suppose?"
No answer.
"Well, you know, Fancy, I do it for the best, and he isn't good enoughfor thee. You know that well enough." Here he again looked at her asshe lay. "Well, Fancy, I can't let my only chiel die; and if you can'tlive without en, you must ha' en, I suppose."
"O, I don't want him like that; all against your will, and everything sodisobedient!" sighed the invalid.
"No, no, 'tisn't against my will. My wish is, now I d'see how 'tishurten thee to live without en, that he shall marry thee as soon as we'veconsidered a little. That's my wish flat and plain, Fancy. There, nevercry, my little maid! You ought to ha' cried afore; no need o' crying now'tis all over. Well, howsoever, try to step over and see me and mother-law to-morrow, and ha' a bit of dinner wi' us."
"And--Dick too?"
"Ay, Dick too, 'far's I know."
"And when do you think you'll have considered, father, and he may marryme?" she coaxed.
"Well, there, say next Midsummer; that's not a day too long to wait."
On leaving the school Geoffrey went to the tranter's. Old William openedthe door.
"Is your grandson Dick in 'ithin, William?"
"No, not just now, Mr. Day. Though he've been at home a good deallately."
"O, how's that?"
"What wi' one thing, and what wi' t'other, he's all in a mope, as mightbe said. Don't seem the feller he used to. Ay, 'a will sit studding andthinking as if 'a were going to turn chapel-member, and then do nothingbut traypse and wamble about. Used to be such a chatty boy, too, Dickdid; and now 'a don't speak at all. But won't ye step inside? Reubenwill be home soon, 'a b'lieve."
"No, thank you, I can't stay now. Will ye just ask Dick if he'll do methe kindness to step over to Yalbury to-morrow with my da'ter Fancy, ifshe's well enough? I don't like her to come by herself, now she's not soterrible topping in health."
"So I've heard. Ay, sure, I'll tell him without fail."
