ing in
particular. There is an indefinite sense that he must be invading some
region of singularity, good or bad. The devout hope is that he is doing
well. The secret faith is that he is making a mess of it. Half a dozen
comfortable market-men, who were habitual callers at the Quiet Woman
as they passed by in their carts, were partial to the topic. In fact,
though they were not Egdon men, they could hardly avoid it while they
sucked their long clay tubes and regarded the heath through the window.
Clym had been so inwoven with the heath in his boyhood that hardly
anybody could look upon it without thinking of him. So the subject
recurred: if he were making a fortune and a name, so much the better
for him; if he were making a tragical figure in the world, so much the
better for a narrative.

The fact was that Yeobright's fame had spread to an awkward extent
before he left home. "It is bad when your fame outruns your means," said
the Spanish Jesuit Gracian. At the age of six he had asked a Scripture
riddle: "Who was the first man known to wear breeches?" and applause
had resounded from the very verge of the heath. At seven he painted the
Battle of Waterloo with tiger-lily pollen and black-currant juice, in
the absence of water-colours. By the time he reached twelve he had in
this manner been heard of as artist and scholar for at least two miles
round. An individual whose fame spreads three or four thousand yards in
the time taken by the fame of others similarly situated to travel six or
eight hundred, must of necessity have something in him. Possibly Clym's
fame, like Homer's, owed something to the accidents of his situation;
nevertheless famous he was.

He grew up and was helped out in life. That waggery of fate which
started Clive as a writing clerk, Gay as a linen-draper, Keats as a
surgeon, and a thousand others in a thousand other odd ways, banished
the wild and ascetic heath lad to a trade whose sole concern was with
the especial symbols of self-indulgence and vainglory.

The details of this choice of a business for him it is not necessary
to give. At the death of his father a neighbouring gentleman had kindly
undertaken to give the boy a start, and this assumed the form of sending
him to Budmouth. Yeobright did not wish to go there, but it was the only
feasible opening. Thence he went to London; and thence, shortly after,
to Paris, where he had remained till now.

Something being expected of him, he had not been