re trifle--yet
a trifle more than nothing. However, I look round upon life quite
cool. Do you heed me, neighbours? My words, though made as simple
as I can, mid be rather deep for some heads."

"O yes, Henery, we quite heed ye."

"A strange old piece, goodmen--whirled about from here to yonder, as
if I were nothing! A little warped, too. But I have my depths; ha,
and even my great depths! I might gird at a certain shepherd, brain
to brain. But no--O no!"

"A strange old piece, ye say!" interposed the maltster, in a
querulous voice. "At the same time ye be no old man worth naming--no
old man at all. Yer teeth bain't half gone yet; and what's a old
man's standing if so be his teeth bain't gone? Weren't I stale in
wedlock afore ye were out of arms? 'Tis a poor thing to be sixty,
when there's people far past four-score--a boast weak as water."

It was the unvarying custom in Weatherbury to sink minor differences
when the maltster had to be pacified.

"Weak as water! yes," said Jan Coggan. "Malter, we feel ye to be a
wonderful veteran man, and nobody can gainsay it."

"Nobody," said Joseph Poorgrass. "Ye be a very rare old spectacle,
malter, and we all admire ye for that gift."

"Ay, and as a young man, when my senses were in prosperity, I was
likewise liked by a good-few who knowed me," said the maltster.

"'Ithout doubt you was--'ithout doubt."

The bent and hoary man was satisfied, and so apparently was Henery
Fray. That matters should continue pleasant Maryann spoke, who, what
with her brown complexion, and the working wrapper of rusty linsey,
had at present the mellow hue of an old sketch in oils--notably some
of Nicholas Poussin's:--

"Do anybody know of a crooked man, or a lame, or any second-hand
fellow at all that would do for poor me?" said Maryann. "A perfect
one I don't expect to get at my time of life. If I could hear of
such a thing twould do me more good than toast and ale."

Coggan furnished a suitable reply. Oak went on with his shearing,
and said not another word. Pestilent moods had come, and teased
away his quiet. Bathsheba had shown indications of anointing him
above his fellows by installing him as the bailiff that the farm
imperatively required. He did not covet the post relatively to the
farm: in relation to herself, as beloved by him and unmarried to
another, he had coveted it. His readings of her seemed now to be
vapoury and indistinct. His lecture to her was, he t