Muse

Thanks for listening to The Sleepy Bookshelf tonight. You make this show possible. If you, like so many, would like to support us, then check out our premium feed, where you'll get ad-free access to the entire catalogue, plus exclusive episodes in between our longer books. There's a link to learn more in the show notes. Hello, it's Elizabeth, and I'm excited to share with you the newest show from Slumber Studios. It's called Sleepy History and it's exactly what it sounds like. Intriguing stories, people, mysteries and events from history delivered in a supremely calming atmosphere. Explore the legend of El Dorado. See what life was like for the Roman gladiators. uncover the myths and mysteries of Stonehenge. You'll find interesting but relaxing episodes like these on Sleepy History and the same great production quality you've come to know and love from The Sleepy Bookshelf. So check it out and perhaps you'll have another way to get a good night's rest. Just search Sleepy History in your preferred podcast player. Good evening, and welcome to The Sleepy Bookshelf, where we put down our worries from the day and pick up a good book. I'm your host, Elizabeth, and thank you for coming this evening. Tonight we'll be continuing far from the madding crowd. But before we do, As you settle into bed, allow each slow breath to soften your body and quiet your mind. Feel a gentle wave of peace washing over you, carrying away every worry from the day. Imagine yourself wrapped in a warm, comforting light that fills you with calm, safety and love. With every exhale, sink deeper into relaxation, knowing there is nothing you need to do right now. Trust that your mind and body are restoring themselves as you drift effortlessly toward peaceful sleep.

Gabriel's life was devastated after his inexperienced young sheepdog mistakenly drove nearly 200 ewes over the edge of a chalk pit, killing the flock and destroying Gabriel's livelihood. Although heartbroken, he was forced to accept that his uninsured flock had wiped out all his savings, leaving him with nothing after paying his debts. Gabriel sold what remained of his possessions and set out to find work. At a hiring fair in Casterbridge, he struggled to secure employment, but after After earning a little money playing his flute, he learned of another fare near Weatherbury, the village where Bathsheba Everdeen had moved. On his journey, Gabriel took an opportunity to sleep in a wagon, only to wake while it was being driven toward Weatherbury. After slipping away unnoticed, he spotted a large fire consuming a farm's straw rick and rushed to help. Using his quick thinking, he organized the villages and prevented the flames from spreading. A young woman admired the brave stranger and sent for him. Hoping the farm might need a shepherd, Gabriel approached, and when she lifted her veil, both were surprised to discover they were face to face once again. It was Bathsheba, now the wealthy mistress of the farm. And that is just where we pick up tonight. So just lie back and relax as I turn to the next.

Next pages are far from the madding crowd. Chapter 7. Recognition. A timid girl. Bathsheba withdrew into the shade. She scarcely knew where the most to be amused at the singularity of the meeting, or to be concerned at its awkwardness. There was room for a little pity, also for a very little exultation. The former at his position, the latter at her own. Embarrassed she was not and she remembered Gabriel's declaration of love to her at Norcom only to think she had nearly forgotten it Yes, she murmured putting on an air of dignity and turning again to him with a little warmth of cheek I do want a shepherd but He's the very man, ma'am, said one of the villagers, quietly. Conviction breeds conviction. Oi, that it is, said a second, decisively. The man, truly, said a third with heartiness. He's all there, said number four, fervidly.

then will you tell him to speak to the bailiff said Bathsheba

all was practical again now a summer's eve and loneliness would have been necessary to give the meeting its proper fullness of romance the bailiff was pointed out to Gabriel who checking the palpitation within his breast at discovering that this ashtoreth of strange report was only a modification of Venus, the well-known and admired, retired with him to talk over the necessary preliminaries of hiring. The fire before them wasted away.

Men, said Bathsheba, you shall take a little refreshment after this extra work. Will you come to the house?

We could knock in a bit and drop a good deal freer, miss. If so be you'd send to Warren's Malthouse, replied the spokesman. And now, said the bailiff, finally, all is settled. I think about your coming, and I am going home along. Good night to you, Shepard. Can you get me a lodging? inquired Gabriel. That I can't indeed, said he, moving past Oak. As a Christian, edges past an offertory plate when he does not mean to contribute. If you follow on the road till you come to Warren's Malthouse, where they are all gone to have their snapper victuals, I dare say some of them will tell you of a place. Good night to you, shepherd. The bailiff, who showed this nervous dread of loving his neighbour as himself, went up the hill, and Oak walked on to the village, still astonished at the re-encounter with Bathsheba, glad of his nearness to her, and perplexed at the rapidity with which the unpractised girl of Norcombe had developed into the supervising and cool woman here. But some women only require an emergency to make them fit for one. Obliged, to some extent, to forego dreaming in order to find the way, he reached the churchyard and passed round it under the wall where several ancient trees grew. There was a wide margin of grass along here, and Gabriel's footsteps were deadened by its softness, even at this indurating period of the year, when abreast of a trunk, which appeared to be the oldest of the old, he became aware that a figure of a trunk of a was standing behind it. Gabriel did not pause in his walk, and in another moment he accidentally kicked a loose stone. The noise was enough to disturb the motionless stranger, who started and assumed a careless position. It was a slim girl, rather thinly clad. Good night to you, said Gabriel heartily Good night, said the girl to Gabriel The voice was unexpectedly attractive

It was the low and dulcet notes suggestive of romance Common in descriptions, rare in experience Oh, thank you to tell me if I'm in the way for Warren's mothouse. Gabriel resumed, primarily to gain the information, indirectly to get more of the music.

Quite right, it's at the bottom of the hill.

And do you know? The girl hesitated and then went on again.

Do you know how late they keep hoping the book's head in?

She seemed to be won by Gabriel's heartiness, as Gabriel had been won by her modulations. I don't know where the book's head is, or anything about it. Do you think of going there tonight?

Yes.

The woman again paused. There was no necessity for any continuance of speech, and the fact that she did add more seemed to proceed from an unconscious desire to show unconcern by making a remark which is noticeable in the ingenuous when they are acting by stealth. You are not a weatherberry man, she said timorously. I am not. I am the new shepherd.

Just arrived. Only a shepherd? Don't you seem almost a farmer by your ways?

Only a shepherd. Gabriel repeated in a dull cadence of finality. His thoughts were directed to the past, his eyes to the feet of the girl, and for the first time he saw lying there a bundle of some sort. she may have perceived the direction of his face for she said coaxingly

you won't say anything in the parish about having seen me here will you

at least not for a day or two i won't if you wish me not to said oak thank you indeed the other

replied. I am rather poor, and I don't want people to know anything about me.

Then she was silent and shivered. You ought to have a cloak on such a cold night. Gabriel observed. I would advise you to get indoors. Oh no. Would you mind going on and leaving me. Thank you much for what you've told me. I will go on, he said, adding hesitantly. Since you are not very well off, perhaps you would accept this trifle from me. It is only a shilling, but it is all I have to spare. Yes, I will take it, said the stranger gratefully. she extended her hand Gabriel his in feeling for each other's palm in the gloom before the money could be passed a minute incident occurred which told much Gabriel's fingers alighted on the young woman's wrist it was beating with a throb of tragic intensity He had frequently felt the same quick, hard beat in the femoral artery of his lambs when overdriven. It suggested a consumption too great of a vitality which, to judge from her figure and stature, was already too little. What is the matter?

Nothing.

But there is.

No. No, no. That sure hasn't seen me be a secret.

Very well. I will.

Good night again. Good night. The young girl remained motionless by the tree, and Gabriel descended into the village of Weatherbury, or Lower Long Puddle as it was sometimes called. He fancied that he'd felt himself in the penumbra of a very deep sadness when touching that slight and fragile creature. But wisdom lies in moderating mere impressions, and Gabriel endeavoured to think little of this. Chapter Eight The Malthouse The Chat News Warren's Malthouse was enclosed by an old wall, enwrapped with ivy. And though not much of the exterior was visible at this hour, the character and purposes of the building were clearly enough shown by its outline upon the sky. From the walls, an overhanging thatched roof sloped up to a point in the centre, upon which rose a small wooden lantern, fitted with louvre boards on all the four sides, and from these openings a mist was dimly perceived to be escaping into the night air. There was no window in front, but a square hole in the door was glazed with a single pane through which red, comfortable rays now stretched out upon the ivied wall in front. Voices were to be heard inside. Oak's hand skimmed the surface of the door with fingers extended to an elemus the sorcerer pattern. till he found a leathern strap which he pulled. This lifted a wooden latch and the door swung open. The room inside was lighted only by the ruddy glow from the kiln mouth which shone over the floor with the streaming horizontality of the setting sun and threw upwards the shadows of all facial irregularities in those assembled around. The stone flag floor was worn into a path from the doorway to the kiln and into undulations everywhere.

A curved settle of unplanned oak stretched along one side, and in a remote corner was a small bed and bedstead, the owner and frequent occupier of which was the Maltster. This aged man was now sitting opposite the fire, his frosty white hair and beard overgrowing his gnarled figure like the grey moss and lichen upon a lifeless apple tree. He wore breeches and the laced-up shoes called ankle jacks. He kept his eyes fixed upon the fire. Gabriel's nose was greeted by an atmosphere laden with the sweet smell of new malt. The conversation, which seemed to have been concerning the origin of the fire, immediately ceased, and everyone ocularly criticised him to the degree expressed by contracting the flesh of their foreheads and looking at him with narrowed eyelids, as if he had been a light too strong for their sight. Several exclaimed meditatively after this operation had been completed,

oh tis the new shepherd i believe we thought we heard an hand pouring about the door for the bobbin but weren't sure to not a dead leaf blowed across said another come in shepherd sure you'd be welcome though we

do not know your name. Gabriel Oak, that's my name, neighbours. The ancient maltster, sitting in the midst, turned at this, his turning being as the turning of a rusty crane. me. As never Gabriel Oak's grandson over at Norcom, never, he said, as a formula expressive of surprise which nobody was supposed for a moment to take literally. My father and my grandfather were old men of the same name of Gabriel, said the shepherd placidly. Thought I knowed the man's face as I seeed him on the rick. Thought I did. And where ye betrayed not now, shepherd? I'm thinking of biding here, said Mr. Oak. Knowed your grandfather for years and years, continued the maltster, the words coming forth of their own accord. as if the momentum previously imparted had been sufficient. Ah, and did you? Knowed your grandmother? And her too? Likewise, knowed your father when he was a child. Why, my boy Jacob there and your father were sworn brothers. That they were sure, weren't you, Jacob? Aye, sure, said his son, a young man about sixty-five, with a semi-bald head and one tooth in the left centre of his upper jaw, which made much of itself by standing prominent, like a milestone in a bank. But it was Joe who had most to do with him. However, my son William must have known the very man of Forrest, didn't you, Billy, before you left Norcom? Hmm? No, it was Andrew, said Jacob's son, Billy, a child of forty or thereabouts, who manifested the peculiarity of possessing a cheerful soul in a gloomy body, and whose whiskers were assuming a chinchilla shade here and there. I can mind, Andrew said out as being a man in the place when I was quite a child Oi, the other day I and my youngest daughter, Liddy were over at my grandson's christening continued Billy we were talking about this very family and it was only last purification day in this very world when the used money is guided away

to the second-best poor folk, you know, Shepard, and I didn't mind the day, because they all had to traipse up to the vestry. Yes, this very man's family. Come, Shepard, and drink. Tis gate and swallow with us. A drab of summit, but not much account. Said the Maltster, removing from the fire his eyes, which were vermilion red, and bleared by gazing into it for so many years. Take up the God forgive me, Jacob. Sleep is warm, Jacob. Jacob stooped to the God forgive me, which was a two-handled, tall mug standing in the ashes, cracked and charred with heat. It was rather furred with extraneous matter about the outside. especially in the crevices of the handles, the innermost curves of which may not have seen daylight for several years by reason of this encrustation thereon, formed of ashes, accidentally wetted with cider, and baked hard. But to the mind of any sensible drinker the cup was no worse for that, being incontestably clean on the inside and about the rim. It may be observed that such a class of mug is called a God Forgive Me in Weatherbury, and its vicinity for uncertain reasons, probably because its size makes any given Topa feel ashamed of himself when he sees its bottom in drinking it empty. Jacob, on receiving the order to see if the liquor was warm, enough, placidly dipped his forefinger into it by way of thermometer, and having pronounced it nearly of the proper degree, raised the cup and very civilly attempted to dust some of the ashes from the bottom with the skirt of his smock-frock, because Shepherd Oak was a stranger. A clean cup for the shepherd, said the maltster commandingly. No, not at all, said Gabriel in a reproving tone of considerateness. I never fuss about dirt in its pure state, and when I know what sort it is. Taking the mug, he drank an inch or more from the depth of his contents and duly passed it to the next man. I wouldn't think of giving such trouble to neighbours in Washing Up, when there's so much work to be done in the world already.

Continued Oak in a moister tone, after recovering from the stoppage of breath which is occasioned by pools at large mugs. A right sensible man, said Jacob. True, true, it can't be gainsaid, observed a brisk young man, Mark Clark by name. A genial and pleasant gentleman whom to meet anywhere in your travels was to know. To know was to drink with, and to drink with was, unfortunately, to pay for. And here's a mouthful of bread and bacon that the missus have sent, Shepard. The cider will go down better with a bit of victuals. Don't need sure quite close, Shepard, for I let that bacon fall in road outside as I was bringing it along. And maybe it is rather gritty. There, it is clay and dirt, and we all know what that is, as you say. And you baint a particular man we see, Shepard. True, true. Not at all. Said the friendly oak. Don't let your teeth quiet, mate, and you won't feel the sandiness at all. This is wonderful, what can be done by contrivance. My own mind exactly, neighbour. Ah, he's his grandfather's own grandson. His grandfather was just a nice-on particular man, said the maltster. Drink, Henry Frey, drink, magnanimously said Jan Kogan, a person who held Saint-Simonian notions of share and share alike where liquor was concerned, as the vessel showed signs of approaching him in its gradual revolution among them. Having had at this moment reached the end of a wistful gaze into mid-air, Henry did not refuse. He was a man of more than middle age, with eyebrows high up in his forehead, who laid it down that the law of the world was bad with a long-suffering look through his listeners that the world alluded to, as it presented itself to his imagination. He always signed his name, Henry, strenuously insisting upon that spelling, and if any passing schoolmaster ventured to remark that the second E was superfluous and old-fashioned, He received the reply that H-E-N-E-R-Y was the name he was christened and the name he would stick to, in the tone of one to whom orthographical differences were matters which had great deal to do with personal character.

Mr. Jan Kogan, who had passed the cup to Henry, was a crimson man with a spacious countenance and private glimmer in his eye, whose name had appeared on the marriage register of Weatherbury and neighbouring parishes as best man and chief witness in countless unions of the previous 20 years. He also, very frequently, filled the post of head godfather in baptisms of the subtly jovial kind. Come, Mark Clark, come. There's plenty more in the barrel, said Jan. Ah, that I will. Tis my only doctor, replied Mr Clark, who, twenty years younger than Jan Kogan, revolved in the same orbit. He secreted mirth on all occasions for special discharge at popular parties. Why, Joseph Paul Grass, he ain't had a drop, said Mr. Cogan to a self-conscious man in the background, thrusting the cup towards him. Such a modest man as he is, said Jacob Smallbury. We've hardly had strength of an eye to look in our missus' face, so are you, Joseph? All looked at Joseph Paul Grass with pitying reproach. no we've hardly looked at her at all simpered joseph reducing his body smaller whilst talking apparently from a meek sense of undue prominence when i'd seed her she's nothing but blushes with me. Poor fella, said Mr. Clark. Tis a curious nature for a man, said Yang Kogan. Yes, continued Joseph Paul Grass. His shyness, which was so painful as a defect, filling him with a mild complacency now, that it was regarded as an interesting study. It were blush, blush, blush with me every minute of the time when she was speaking to me. I believe ye, Joseph, poor grass, for we all know ye to be a very bashful man. Tis an awkward gift for a man, poor soul, said the monster. And how long have you suffered from it, Joseph? Oh, ever since I was a boy, yes, mother was concerned to her heart about it, yes, but t'was all naught. Did you ever go into the world and try and stop it, Joseph Borgras? Oh, I tried all sorts of company.

They took me to Green Hill Fair, and to a great gay, jerry-go-nimble show there, where there were women folk riding round, standing up on horses with hardly anything on but their smocks. It didn't cure me a morsel. And then I was put near a man in the woman's skittle alley at the back of the tailor's arms in Casterbridge. It was a horrible, sinful situation. A very curious place for a good man. I had to stand and look body people in the face from morning till night. But it was no use. It was just as bad as ever after all. Blushes have been in the family generations. Here, tis happy providence I'd be no worse. True, said Jacob Smallbury, deepening his thoughts to a profounder view of the subject. Tis a thought to look at that ye might have been worse. But even as you be, tis a very bad affliction for ye, Joseph. For you see, Shepard, though, tis very well for a woman, dang it all. Tis awkward for a man like him, poor fella. Tis, tis, said Gabriel, recovering from a meditation. Yes, very awkward for the man. Aye, and he's very timid too, observed Yang Kogan. Wartens, he had been working late at Yolbury Bottom, and he had a draper drink and lost his way as he was coming home from Yolbury Wood, didn't you, Master Paul Grass? No, no, no, not our story, expostulated the modest man, forcing a laugh to bury his concern. And so I lost himself quite, continued Mr. Cogan with an impassive face, implying that a true narrative like time and tide must run its course and would respect no man. and as he was coming along the road in the middle of the night much afeared and not able to find his way out the trees no how i cried out man i lost man i lost an owl in the tree happened to be crying as owls do you know shepherd gabriel nodded and joseph all in a tremble said joseph poor grass of weatherby sir no no no no ask too much said the timid man becoming a man of brazen courage all of a sudden i didn't say sir i'll take my oath i didn't say joseph poor grass of weatherby sir no no what's right is right and i never said sir to the bird knowing very well that no man of a gentleman's rank would be alluring there at that time of night. Joseph, poor grass of Wetherby. That's every word I said.

And I shouldn't have said that. It hadn't been for Keeper Day's method, Glenn. There, it was a merciful thing it ended where it did. The question of which was right being tacitly waived by the company, Jan went on meditatively. And he's the fearfullest man, bein' you, Joseph. Another time, you were lost by lamb in den gate, weren't you, Joseph? I was, replied poor grass, as if there were some conditions too serious even for modesty to remember itself under, this being one. Yes, at the middle of night too. The gate would not open, try how he would, and knowing there was the devil's hand in it, he kneeled down. Aye, said Joseph, acquiring confidence from the warmth of the fire, the cider, and a perception of the narrative capabilities of the experience alluded to. my heart died within me that time i kneeled down and said the lord's prayer and then the belief right through and then the ten commandments in earnest prayer but no the gate wouldn't open and then i went on with dearly beloved brethren and thinks i this makes four it is all i know out of a book, and if this don't do it not, then will, and I'm a lost man. Well, when I got a saying after me, I rose from my knees and found the gate would open. Yes, neighbours, the gate open the same as ever. A meditation on the obvious inference was indulged in by all, and during its continuance each directed his vision into the ash pit, which glowed like a desert in the tropics under a vertical sun, shaping their eyes, long and linny, partly because of the light, partly because of the depth of the subject discussed. Gabriel broke the silence. what sort of a place is this to live at and what sort of missus is she to work under Gabriel's bosom thrilled gently as he thus slipped under the notice of the assembly the innermost subject of his heart we'd know a little of her nothing she only showed herself a few days ago her uncle was took bad and the doctor was called with his worldwide skill but she couldn't serve the man

as I take it she's going to keep on the farm that's about the shape of it I believe said Jan Kogan it is a very good family I'd as soon be under them as under one here and there her uncle was a very fair sort of man did you know him Shepard a bachelor man not at all I used to go to his house according to my first wife Charlotte who was his dairy maid well, a very good-hearted mammal farmer Everdeen and I, being a respectable young fella was allowed to call and see her and drink as much ale as I liked but not to carry away any outside my skin I mean of course aye aye yeah and Colgan we know you're running and so you see it was beautiful ale and I wish to value its kindness as much as I could and not to be so ill-mannered as to drink only a thimbleful which would have been insulting the man's generosity. True, Master Corgan, trod so, corroborated Mark Clark. And so, I used to eat a lot of saltfish before going and then by the time I got there I was as dry as a lime basket so thorough dry that ale would slip down out would slip down sweet happy times heavenly times such lovely drunks as I used to have at their house you can mind Jacob, used to come with me sometimes we can, we can that one till we had a boxhead on a white Monday was a pretty tipple it was but for a way of the better class, it brought you now nearer to the old man than you were before you begun, there was none like those in Farmer Everdeen's kitchen. Not a single dam allowed. No, not a bare poor one, even at the most cheerful moment, when we were all blindest. Though the good old word of sin thrown in here and there at such times is a great relief to a merry soul. True, said the monster. Neither requires her swearing at the regular times or she's not herself. And unholy exclamations is a necessity of life. But Charlotte, continued Kogan, not a word of the sort would Charlotte allow. Not the smallest item of taking in vain. Ah, poor Shola I wonder if she had the good fortune to get into heaven when I died But I was never much in luck's way Perhaps I went downwards after all, poor soul And did any of you know Miss Everdeen's father and mother? Inquired the shepherd

He found some difficulty in keeping the conversation in the desired channel We knew them a little Well, said Jacob Smallbury, but they were townsfolk and didn't live here. They'd been dead for years. Father, what sort of people were Mrs. Father and Mother? Well, said the Maltster, he wasn't much to look at, but she was a lovely woman. He was fond enough of her as his sweetheart. It was a case of schools and long hundreds of times, so to sit, observed Cogan. He was very proud of her too when they were married, as I've been told, said the monster. Aye, said Cogan. He admired her so much that he used to light the candle three times a night to look at her. Boundless love. You shouldn't have supposed it in the universe, murmured Joseph Paul Gras, who habitually spoke on a large scale in his moral reflections. Well, to be sure, said Gabriel. Oh, it is true enough. I know the man and woman both well. Levi Everdean, that was a man's name, sure. Man sayeth I in my hurry, but he were of a higher circle in life than that. He was a gentleman tailor, really, worth scores of pounds. And he became a very celebrated bankrupt two or three times. Oh, I thought he was quite a common man, said Joseph. Oh, no, no. That man failed for heaps of money. Hundreds in gold and silver. The monster being rather short of breath, Mr. Cogan, after absently scrutinising a coal which had fallen among the ashes, took up the narrative with a private twirl of his eye. well now you'd hardly believe it but that man Armis Everdeen's father was one of the ficklest husbands alive after a while understand I didn't want to be fickle but he couldn't help it the poor fellow were faithful and true enough to her in his wish but his heart would rove and do what he would he spoke to me in real tribulation about it once Cogan he said I could never wish for an handsomer woman than the one I've got, but feeling she's ticketed as my lawful wife, I can't help my wicked heart wandering do what I will.

But at last I believe he cured it, by making her take off her wedding ring and calling her by her maiden name as they sat together after the shop was shut, and so I would get to fancy she was only his sweetheart and not married to him at all. and as soon as he could thoroughly fancy he was doing wrong and committing the seventh, I got to her like as well as ever, and they lived on a pretty picture of mutual love. Well, it was the most ungodly remedy, murmured Joseph Paul Grass, but we ought to feel a deep cheerfulness that happy providence kept it from being any worse. You see, he might have gone the bad road and given his eyes to unlawfulness entirely. Yes, gross unlawfulness, so to say it. You see, said Billy Smallbury, the man's will was to do right, sure enough, but his heart didn't chime in. He's got so much better than he was quite godly in his later years, wasn't he, Jan? Said Joseph Paul Grass. he got himself confirmed over and over again in more serious way and took to saying amen almost as loud as the clerk and he liked the copy for them verses from the tombstones they used to to hold the money plate that let your light so shine and stand godfather to poor little come-by-chance children and he kept the missionary box upon his table to nab folks unawares when they called and he would box the charity boys ears if they laughed in church till they could hardly stand upright and do other deeds of piety natural to the saintly inclined. Aye, at that time, he thought nothing of but eye things, added Billy Smallbury. One day, Parson Thirdly met him and said, good morning, Mr Everdeen, tis a fine day. Amen, said Everdeen, quite absent-like, thinking only of religion when he see the Parson. Yes, he was a very Christian man. Their daughter was not at all a pretty child at the time, said Henry Frey. Never should I have thought that she'd grown up with such an handsome body as she is. Tis to be hope her temper is as good as her face. Well, yes. But the Bailey will most have to do with the business and ourselves. Henry gazed into the ash pit and smiled volumes of ironical knowledge. Queer Christian, at the devil's head in her cowl, as the saying is, volunteered Mr. Clark. He is, said Henry, implying that irony must cease at a certain point.

Between we two, man and man, I believe that man would soon as tell a lie Sundays as working days, that I do so. Good faith, you do talk, said Gabriel. True enough, said the man of bitter moods, looking round upon the company with the antithetic laughter that comes from a keener appreciation of the miseries of life than ordinary men are capable of. There's people of one sort and people of another. But that man, Bless your souls. Gabriel thought fit to change the subject. You must be a very aged man, Malta, to have sons grow mild and ancient, he remarked. Father's so old he can't mind his age, can he, father? interposed Jacob. And he's grown terrible crooked too lately. Jacob continued, surveying his father's figure, which was rather more bowed than his own. Really one might say that father there is three double. Crooked folk will last a long while, said the monster grimly and not in the best humour. Shepard would like to be the pedigree of your life, father, wouldn't you, Shepard? Aye, I should, said Gabriel with the heartiness of a man who had longed to hear it for several months. What may your age be, Mulder? The monster cleared his throat in an exaggerated form for emphasis, and elongated his gaze to the remotest point of the ash pit. Said in the slow speech, justifiable when the importance of a subject is so generally felt that any mannerism must be tolerated in getting at it. Well, I don't mind the year I were born in, but perhaps I can reckon up the places I've lived at, and so to get it that way. I bowed an upper long puddle across there, nodding to the north, till I were eleven. I bowed seven at Kingsbury, nodding to the east, where I took the mulling. I went there from the Norcom and mulled there two and twenty years. And two and twenty years I was there turnip hoeing and harvesting. I know that old place, Norcom, years afore you were thought of, Master O. Oak smiled, sincere belief in the fact.

Then I mounted at Durnover for a year, and for a year at Turnip Owen. And I was, uh, fourteen times, eleven months at Mill Pond in St. Jude's, nodding northwest by north. Old Twills would know me for more than eleven months at a time to keep me from being charitable to the parish if I so

Toby was disabled. Then I was three year at Melstock, and I've been here one and thirty year come Candlemas. How much is that?

117, chuckled another old gentleman given to mental arithmetic and little conversation who had hitherto sat unobserved in a corner. "'Well, then, that's my age,' said the Maltster emphatically. "'Oh, no, father,' said Jacob.

"'You turn the poem was in the summer and the Maltin in the winter of the same years, "'and you don't ought to count both halves, father.' "'Shock it all, I've lived through summers, didn't I? "'Ask my question. We suppose you say next you'd be no age at all to speak of.

Sure we shan't, said Gabriel, soothingly. You'd be a very old-aged person, Malta, attested young Cogan, also soothingly. We all know that, and you must have had a wonderful, talented constitution to be able to live so long, mustn't you, neighbours? True, true, you must, Malta, wonderful. said the meeting unanimously. The maltster being now pacified was even generous enough to voluntarily disparage in a slight degree the virtue of having lived a great many years by mentioning that the cup they were drinking out of was three years older than he.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.