Under the Greenwood Tree Part 24

"That's a terrible crippled rhyme, if that's your rhyme!" said d.i.c.k, with a grain of superciliousness in his tone.

"It's no use your complaining to me about the rhyme!" said Mr. s.h.i.+ner.

"You must go to the man that made it."

Fancy by this time had acquired confidence.

"Taste a bit, Mr. Dewy," she said, holding up to him a small circular piece of honeycomb that had been the last in the row of layers, remaining still on her knees and flinging back her head to look in his face; "and then I'll taste a bit too."

"And I, if you please," said Mr. s.h.i.+ner. Nevertheless the farmer looked superior, as if he could even now hardly join the trifling from very importance of station; and after receiving the honeycomb from Fancy, he turned it over in his hand till the cells began to be crushed, and the liquid honey ran down from his fingers in a thin string.

Suddenly a faint cry from Fancy caused them to gaze at her.

"What's the matter, dear?" said d.i.c.k.

"It is nothing, but O-o! a bee has stung the inside of my lip! He was in one of the cells I was eating!"

"We must keep down the swelling, or it may be serious!" said s.h.i.+ner, stepping up and kneeling beside her. "Let me see it."

"No, no!"

"Just let me see it," said d.i.c.k, kneeling on the other side: and after some hesitation she pressed down her lip with one finger to show the place. "O, I hope 'twill soon be better! I don't mind a sting in ordinary places, but it is so bad upon your lip," she added with tears in her eyes, and writhing a little from the pain.

s.h.i.+ner held the light above his head and pushed his face close to Fancy's, as if the lip had been shown exclusively to himself, upon which d.i.c.k pushed closer, as if s.h.i.+ner were not there at all.

"It is swelling," said d.i.c.k to her right aspect.

"It isn't swelling," said s.h.i.+ner to her left aspect.

"Is it dangerous on the lip?" cried Fancy. "I know it is dangerous on the tongue."

"O no, not dangerous!" answered d.i.c.k.

"Rather dangerous," had answered s.h.i.+ner simultaneously.

"I must try to bear it!" said Fancy, turning again to the hives.

"Hartshorn-and-oil is a good thing to put to it, Miss Day," said s.h.i.+ner with great concern.

"Sweet-oil-and-hartshorn I've found to be a good thing to cure stings, Miss Day," said d.i.c.k with greater concern.

"We have some mixed indoors; would you kindly run and get it for me?" she said.

Now, whether by inadvertence, or whether by mischievous intention, the individuality of the you was so carelessly denoted that both d.i.c.k and s.h.i.+ner sprang to their feet like twin acrobats, and marched abreast to the door; both seized the latch and lifted it, and continued marching on, shoulder to shoulder, in the same manner to the dwelling-house. Not only so, but entering the room, they marched as before straight up to Mrs.

Day's chair, letting the door in the oak part.i.tion slam so forcibly, that the rows of pewter on the dresser rang like a bell.

"Mrs. Day, Fancy has stung her lip, and wants you to give me the hartshorn, please," said Mr. s.h.i.+ner, very close to Mrs. Day's face.

"O, Mrs. Day, Fancy has asked me to bring out the hartshorn, please, because she has stung her lip!" said d.i.c.k, a little closer to Mrs. Day's face.

"Well, men alive! that's no reason why you should eat me, I suppose!"

said Mrs. Day, drawing back.

She searched in the corner-cupboard, produced the bottle, and began to dust the cork, the rim, and every other part very carefully, d.i.c.k's hand and s.h.i.+ner's hand waiting side by side.

"Which is head man?" said Mrs. Day. "Now, don't come mumbudgeting so close again. Which is head man?"

Neither spoke; and the bottle was inclined towards s.h.i.+ner. s.h.i.+ner, as a high-cla.s.s man, would not look in the least triumphant, and turned to go off with it as Geoffrey came downstairs after the search in his linen for concealed bees.

"O--that you, Master Dewy?"

d.i.c.k a.s.sured the keeper that it was; and the young man then determined upon a bold stroke for the attainment of his end, forgetting that the worst of bold strokes is the disastrous consequences they involve if they fail.

"I've come on purpose to speak to you very particular, Mr. Day," he said, with a crus.h.i.+ng emphasis intended for the ears of Mr. s.h.i.+ner, who was vanis.h.i.+ng round the door-post at that moment.

"Well, I've been forced to go upstairs and unrind myself, and shake some bees out o' me" said Geoffrey, walking slowly towards the open door, and standing on the threshold. "The young rascals got into my s.h.i.+rt and wouldn't be quiet nohow."

d.i.c.k followed him to the door.

"I've come to speak a word to you," he repeated, looking out at the pale mist creeping up from the gloom of the valley. "You may perhaps guess what it is about."

The keeper lowered his hands into the depths of his pockets, twirled his eyes, balanced himself on his toes, looked as perpendicularly downward as if his glance were a plumb-line, then horizontally, collecting together the cracks that lay about his face till they were all in the neighbourhood of his eyes.

"Maybe I don't know," he replied.

d.i.c.k said nothing; and the stillness was disturbed only by some small bird that was being killed by an owl in the adjoining wood, whose cry pa.s.sed into the silence without mingling with it.

"I've left my hat up in chammer," said Geoffrey; "wait while I step up and get en."

"I'll be in the garden," said d.i.c.k.

He went round by a side wicket into the garden, and Geoffrey went upstairs. It was the custom in Mellstock and its vicinity to discuss matters of pleasure and ordinary business inside the house, and to reserve the garden for very important affairs: a custom which, as is supposed, originated in the desirability of getting away at such times from the other members of the family when there was only one room for living in, though it was now quite as frequently practised by those who suffered from no such limitation to the size of their domiciles.

The head-keeper's form appeared in the dusky garden, and d.i.c.k walked towards him. The elder paused and leant over the rail of a piggery that stood on the left of the path, upon which d.i.c.k did the same; and they both contemplated a whitish shadowy shape that was moving about and grunting among the straw of the interior.

"I've come to ask for Fancy," said d.i.c.k.

"I'd as lief you hadn't."

"Why should that be, Mr. Day?"

"Because it makes me say that you've come to ask what ye be'n't likely to have. Have ye come for anything else?"

"Nothing."

"Then I'll just tell 'ee you've come on a very foolish errand. D'ye know what her mother was?"

"No."