by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER XXVII
HIVING THE BEES
The Weatherbury bees were late in their swarming this year. It was inthe latter part of June, and the day after the interview with Troy inthe hayfield, that Bathsheba was standing in her garden, watching aswarm in the air and guessing their probable settling place. Notonly were they late this year, but unruly. Sometimes throughout awhole season all the swarms would alight on the lowest attainablebough--such as part of a currant-bush or espalier apple-tree; nextyear they would, with just the same unanimity, make straight off tothe uppermost member of some tall, gaunt costard, or quarrenden,and there defy all invaders who did not come armed with ladders andstaves to take them.
This was the case at present. Bathsheba's eyes, shaded by one hand,were following the ascending multitude against the unexplorablestretch of blue till they ultimately halted by one of the unwieldytrees spoken of. A process somewhat analogous to that of allegedformations of the universe, time and times ago, was observable. Thebustling swarm had swept the sky in a scattered and uniform haze,which now thickened to a nebulous centre: this glided on to a boughand grew still denser, till it formed a solid black spot upon thelight.
The men and women being all busily engaged in saving the hay--evenLiddy had left the house for the purpose of lending a hand--Bathshebaresolved to hive the bees herself, if possible. She had dressed thehive with herbs and honey, fetched a ladder, brush, and crook, madeherself impregnable with armour of leather gloves, straw hat, andlarge gauze veil--once green but now faded to snuff colour--andascended a dozen rungs of the ladder. At once she heard, not tenyards off, a voice that was beginning to have a strange power inagitating her.
"Miss Everdene, let me assist you; you should not attempt such athing alone."
Troy was just opening the garden gate.
Bathsheba flung down the brush, crook, and empty hive, pulled theskirt of her dress tightly round her ankles in a tremendous flurry,and as well as she could slid down the ladder. By the time shereached the bottom Troy was there also, and he stooped to pick upthe hive.
"How fortunate I am to have dropped in at this moment!" exclaimed thesergeant.
She found her voice in a minute. "What! and will you shake them infor me?" she asked, in what, for a defiant girl, was a faltering way;though, for a timid girl, it would have seemed a brave way enough.
"Will I!" said Troy. "Why, of course I will. How blooming you areto-day!" Troy flung down his cane and put his foot on the ladder toascend.
"But you must have on the veil and gloves, or you'll be stungfearfully!"
"Ah, yes. I must put on the veil and gloves. Will you kindly showme how to fix them properly?"
"And you must have the broad-brimmed hat, too, for your cap has nobrim to keep the veil off, and they'd reach your face."
"The broad-brimmed hat, too, by all means."
So a whimsical fate ordered that her hat should be taken off--veiland all attached--and placed upon his head, Troy tossing his own intoa gooseberry bush. Then the veil had to be tied at its lower edgeround his collar and the gloves put on him.
He looked such an extraordinary object in this guise that, flurriedas she was, she could not avoid laughing outright. It was the removalof yet another stake from the palisade of cold manners which had kepthim off.
Bathsheba looked on from the ground whilst he was busy sweeping andshaking the bees from the tree, holding up the hive with the otherhand for them to fall into. She made use of an unobserved minutewhilst his attention was absorbed in the operation to arrange herplumes a little. He came down holding the hive at arm's length,behind which trailed a cloud of bees.
"Upon my life," said Troy, through the veil, "holding up this hivemakes one's arm ache worse than a week of sword-exercise." When themanoeuvre was complete he approached her. "Would you be good enoughto untie me and let me out? I am nearly stifled inside this silkcage."
To hide her embarrassment during the unwonted process of untying thestring about his neck, she said:--
"I have never seen that you spoke of."
"What?"
"The sword-exercise."
"Ah! would you like to?" said Troy.
Bathsheba hesitated. She had heard wondrous reports from time totime by dwellers in Weatherbury, who had by chance sojourned awhilein Casterbridge, near the barracks, of this strange and gloriousperformance, the sword-exercise. Men and boys who had peeped throughchinks or over walls into the barrack-yard returned with accounts ofits being the most flashing affair conceivable; accoutrements andweapons glistening like stars--here, there, around--yet all by ruleand compass. So she said mildly what she felt strongly.
"Yes; I should like to see it very much."
"And so you shall; you shall see me go through it."
"No! How?"
"Let me consider."
"Not with a walking-stick--I don't care to see that. It must be areal sword."
"Yes, I know; and I have no sword here; but I think I could get oneby the evening. Now, will you do this?"
Troy bent over her and murmured some suggestion in a low voice.
"Oh no, indeed!" said Bathsheba, blushing. "Thank you very much, butI couldn't on any account."
"Surely you might? Nobody would know."
She shook her head, but with a weakened negation. "If I were to,"she said, "I must bring Liddy too. Might I not?"
Troy looked far away. "I don't see why you want to bring her," hesaid coldly.
An unconscious look of assent in Bathsheba's eyes betrayed thatsomething more than his coldness had made her also feel that Liddywould be superfluous in the suggested scene. She had felt it, evenwhilst making the proposal.
"Well, I won't bring Liddy--and I'll come. But only for a very shorttime," she added; "a very short time."
"It will not take five minutes," said Troy.
