s at that instant, the corn-factor turned on
him, and declared with an oath that this was the last time; that if he
were behind once more, by God, he would come and drag him out o' bed.

"There is sommit wrong in my make, your worshipful!" said Abel,
"especially in the inside, whereas my poor dumb brain gets as dead as
a clot afore I've said my few scrags of prayers. Yes--it came on as a
stripling, just afore I'd got man's wages, whereas I never enjoy my bed
at all, for no sooner do I lie down than I be asleep, and afore I be
awake I be up. I've fretted my gizzard green about it, maister, but what
can I do? Now last night, afore I went to bed, I only had a scantling o'
cheese and--"

"I don't want to hear it!" roared Henchard. "To-morrow the waggons must
start at four, and if you're not here, stand clear. I'll mortify thy
flesh for thee!"

"But let me clear up my points, your worshipful----"

Henchard turned away.

"He asked me and he questioned me, and then 'a wouldn't hear my
points!" said Abel, to the yard in general. "Now, I shall twitch like a
moment-hand all night to-night for fear o' him!"

The journey to be taken by the waggons next day was a long one into
Blackmoor Vale, and at four o'clock lanterns were moving about the yard.
But Abel was missing. Before either of the other men could run to Abel's
and warn him Henchard appeared in the garden doorway. "Where's Abel
Whittle? Not come after all I've said? Now I'll carry out my word, by
my blessed fathers--nothing else will do him any good! I'm going up that
way."

Henchard went off, entered Abel's house, a little cottage in Back
Street, the door of which was never locked because the inmates had
nothing to lose. Reaching Whittle's bedside the corn-factor shouted a
bass note so vigorously that Abel started up instantly, and beholding
Henchard standing over him, was galvanized into spasmodic movements
which had not much relation to getting on his clothes.

"Out of bed, sir, and off to the granary, or you leave my employ to-day!
'Tis to teach ye a lesson. March on; never mind your breeches!"

The unhappy Whittle threw on his sleeve waistcoat, and managed to get
into his boots at the bottom of the stairs, while Henchard thrust his
hat over his head. Whittle then trotted on down Back Street, Henchard
walking sternly behind.

Just at this time Farfrae, who had been to Henchard's house to look for
him, came out of the back gate, and saw something white flutte