adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第50章
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especially on wearing her red…and…black necklace outside her
tippet。 And there were many wet places for her to be carried over
this afternoon； for there had been heavy showers in the morning；
though now the clouds had rolled off and lay in towering silvery
masses on the horizon。
You might have known it was Sunday if you had only waked up
in the farmyard。 The cocks and hens seemed to know it； and made
only crooning subdued noises； the very bull…dog looked less
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savage； as if he would have been satisfied with a smaller bite than
usual。 The sunshine seemed to call all things to rest and not to
labour。 It was asleep itself on the moss…grown cow…shed； on the
group of white ducks nestling together with their bills tucked
under their wings； on the old black sow stretched languidly on the
straw； while her largest young one found an excellent spring…bed
on his mother’s fat ribs； on Alick； the shepherd； in his new smock…
frock； taking an uneasy siesta； half…sitting； half…standing on the
granary steps。 Alick was of opinion that church； like other
luxuries； was not to be indulged in often by a foreman who had the
weather and the ewes on his mind。 “Church！ Nay—I’n gotten
summat else to think on；” was an answer which he often uttered in
a tone of bitter significance that silenced further question。 I feel
sure Alick meant no irreverence； indeed； I know that his mind was
not of a speculative； negative cast； and he would on no account
have missed going to church on Christmas Day； Easter Sunday；
and “Whissuntide。” But he had a general impression that public
worship and religious ceremonies； like other non…productive
employments； were intended for people who had leisure。
“There’s Father a…standing at the yard…gate；” said Martin
Poyser。 “I reckon he wants to watch us down the field。 It’s
wonderful what sight he has； and him turned seventy…five。”
“Ah； I often think it’s wi’ th’ old folks as it is wi’ the babbies；”
said Mrs。 Poyser； “they’re satisfied wi’ looking； no matter what
they’re looking at。 It’s God A’mighty’s way o’ quietening ’em； I
reckon； afore they go to sleep。”
Old Martin opened the gate as he saw the family procession
approaching； and held it wide open； leaning on his stick—pleased
to do this bit of work； for； like all old men whose life has been
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spent in labour； he liked to feel that he was still useful—that there
was a better crop of onions in the garden because he was by at the
sowing—and that the cows would be milked the better if he stayed
at home on a Sunday afternoon to look on。 He always went to
church on Sacrament Sundays； but not very regularly at other
times； on wet Sundays； or whenever he had a touch of
rheumatism； he used to read the three first chapters of Genesis
instead。
“They’ll ha’ putten Thias Bede i’ the ground afore ye get to the
churchyard；” he said； as his son came up。 “It ’ud ha’ been better
luck if they’d ha’ buried him i’ the forenoon when the rain was
fallin’； there’s no likelihoods of a drop now； an’ the moon lies like a
boat there； dost see？ That’s a sure sign o’ fair weather—there’s a
many as is false but that’s sure。”
“Aye； aye；” said the son； “I’m in hopes it’ll hold up now。”
“Mind what the parson says； mind what the parson says； my
lads；” said Grandfather to the black…eyed youngsters in knee…
breeches； conscious of a marble or two in their pockets which they
looked forward to handling； a little； secretly； during the sermon。
“Dood…bye； Dandad；” said Totty。 “Me doin’ to church。 Me dot
my netlace on。 Dive me a peppermint。”
Grandad； shaking with laughter at this “deep little wench；”
slowly transferred his stick to his left hand； which held the gate
open； and slowly thrust his finger into the waistcoat pocket on
which Totty had fixed her eyes with a confident look of
expectation。
And when they were all gone； the old man leaned on the gate
again； watching them across the lane along the Home Close； and
through the far gate； till they disappeared behind a bend in the
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hedge。 For the hedgerows in those days shut out one’s view； even
on the better…managed farms； and this afternoon； the dog…roses
were tossing out their pink wreaths； the nightshade was in its
yellow and purple glory； the pale honeysuckle grew out of reach；
peeping high up out of a holly bush； and over all an ash or a
sycamore every now and then threw its shadow across the path。
There were acquaintances at other gates who had to move aside
and let them pass： at the gate of the Home Close there was half the
dairy of cows standing one behind the other； extremely slow to
understand that their large bodies might be in the way； at the far
gate there was the mare holding her head over the bars； and
beside her the liver…coloured foal with its head towards its
mother’s flank； apparently still much embarrassed by its own
straddling existence。 The way lay entirely through Mr。 Poyser’s
own fields till they reached the main road leading to the village；
and he turned a keen eye on the stock and the crops as they went
along； while Mrs。 Poyser was ready to supply a running
commentary on them all。 The woman who manages a dairy has a
large share in making the rent； so she may well be allowed to have
her opinion on stock and their “keep”—an exercise which
strengthens her understanding so much that she finds herself able
to give her husband advice on most other subjects。
“There’s that short…horned Sally；” she said； as they entered the
Home Close； and she caught sight of the meek beast that lay
chewing the cud and looking at her with a sleepy eye。 “I begin to
hate the sight o’ the cow； and I say now what I said three weeks
ago； the sooner we get rid of her the better； for there’s that little
yallow cow as doesn’t give half the milk； and yet I’ve twice as
much butter from her。”
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“Why； thee ’t not like the women in general；” said Mr。 Poyser；
“they like the shorthorns； as give such a lot o’ milk。 There’s
Chowne’s wife wants him to buy no other sort。”
“What’s it sinnify what Chowne’s wife likes？ A poor soft thing；
wi’ no more head…piece nor a sparrow。 She’d take a big cullender
to strain her lard wi’； and then wonder as the scratchin’s run
through。 I’ve seen enough of her to know as I’ll niver take a
servant from her house again—all hugger…mugger—and you’d
niver know； when you went in； whether it was Monday or Friday；
the wash draggin’ on to th’ end o’ the week； and as for her cheese；
I know well enough it rose like a loaf in a tin last year。 And then
she talks o’ the weather bein’ i’ fault； as there’s folks ’ud stand on
their heads and then say the fault was i’ their boots。”
“Well； Chowne’s been wanting to buy Sally； so we can get rid of
her if thee lik’st；” said Mr。 Poyser； secretly proud of his wife’s
superior power of putting two and two together； indeed； on recent
market…days he had more than once boasted of her discernment in
this very matter of shorthorns。
“Aye； them as choose a soft for a wife may ’s well buy up the
shorthorns； for if you get your head stuck in a bog； your legs may
’s well go after it。 Eh！ Talk o’ legs； there’s legs for you；” Mrs。
Poyser continued； as Totty； who had been set down now the road
was dry； toddled on in front of her father and mother。 “There’s
shapes！ An’ she’s got such a long foot； she’ll be her father’s own
child。”
“Aye； she’ll be welly such a one as Hetty i’ ten years’ time； on’y
she’s got thy coloured eyes。 I niver remember a blue eye i’ my
family； my mother had eyes as black as sloes； just like Hetty’s。”
“The child ’ull be none the worse for having summat as isn’t
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like Hetty。 An’ I’m none for having her so over pretty。 Though for
the matter o’ that； there’s people wi’ light hair an’ blue eyes as
pretty as them wi’ black。 If Dinah had got a bit o’ colour in her
cheeks； an’ didn’t stick that Methodist cap on her head； enough to
frighten the cows； folks ’ud think her as pretty as Hetty。”
“Nay； nay；” said Mr。 Poyser； with rather a contemptuous
emphasis； “thee dostna know the pints of a woman。 The men ’ud
niver run after Dinah as they would after Hetty。”
“What care I what the men ’ud run after？ It’s well seen what
choice the most of ’em know
