NIGHT -- THE FLOCK -- AN INTERIOR -- ANOTHER INTERIOR
IT was nearly midnight on the eve of St. Thomas's, theshortest day in the year. A desolating wind wanderedfrom the north over the hill whereon Oak had watchedthe yellow waggon and its occupant in the sunshine ofa few days earlier. Norcombe Hill -- not far from lonely Toller-Down -- was one of the spots which suggest to a passer-bythat he is in the presence of a shape approaching theindestructible as nearly as any to be found on earth.It was a featureless convexity of chalk and soil -- anordinary specimen of those smoothly-outlined protuber-ances of the globe which may remain undisturbed onsome great day of confusion, when far grander heightsand dizzy granite precipices topple down.The hill was covered on its northern side by anancient and decaying plantation of beeches, whoseupper verge formed a line over the crest, fringing itsarched curve against the sky, like a mane. To-nightthese trees sheltered the southern slope from the keenestblasts, which smote the wood and floundered throughit with a sound as of grumbling, or gushed over itscrowning boughs in a weakened moan. The dry leavesin the ditch simmered and boiled in the same breezes,a tongue of air occasionally ferreting out a few, andsending them spinning across the grass. A group ortwo of the latest in date amongst the dead multitudehad remained till this very mid-winter time on the twigswhich bore them and in falling rattled against the trunkswith smart taps:Between this half-wooded, half naked hill, and thevague still horizon that its summit indistinctly com-manded, was a mysterious sheet of fathomless shade -- the sounds from which suggested that what it con-cealed bore some reduced resemblance to features here.The thin grasses, more or less coating the hill, weretouched by the wind in breezes of differing powers, andalmost of differing natures -- one rubbing the bladesheavily, another raking them piercingly, another brushingthem like a soft broom. The instinctive act of human-kind was to stand and listen, and learn how the treesto each other in the regular antiphonies of a cathedralchoir; how hedges and other shapes to leeward themcaught the note, lowering it to the tenderest sob; andhow the hurrying gust then plunged into the south, tobe heard no more.The sky was clear -- remarkably clear -- and thetwinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs ofone body, timed by a common pulse. The North Starwas directly in the wind's eye, and since evening theBear had swung round it outwardly to the east, till hewas now at a right angle with the meridian. Adifference of colour in the stars -- oftener read of thanseen in England-was really perceptible here. Thesovereign brilliancy of Sirius pierced the eye with a steelyglitter, the star called Capella was yellow, Aldebaran andBetelgueux shone with a fiery red.To persons standing alone on a hill during a clearmidnight such as this, the roll of the world eastward isalmost a palpable movement. The sensation may becaused by the panoramic glide of the stars past earthlyobjects, which is perceptible in a few minutes of still-ness, or by the better outlook upon space that a hillaffords, or by the wind, or by the solitude; but whateverbe its origin, the impression of riding along is vivid andabiding. The poetry of motion is a phrase much inuse, and to enjoy the epic form of that gratification itis necessary to stand on a hill at a small hour of thenight, and, having first expanded with a sense of differ-ence from the mass of civilised mankind, who aredreamwrapt and disregardful of all such proceedings atthis time, long and quietly watch your stately progressthrough the stars. After such a nocturnal reconnoitreit is hard to get back to earth, and to believe that theconsciousness of such majestic speeding is derived froma tiny human frame.Suddenly an unexpected series of sounds began tobe heard in this place up against the sky. They had aclearness which was to be found nowhere in the wind,and a sequence which was to be found nowhere innature. They were the notes of Farmer Oak's flute.The tune was not floating unhindered into the openair: it seemed muffled in some way, and was altogethertoo curtailed in power to spread high or wide. It camefrom the direction of a small dark object under theplantation hedge -- a shepherd's hut -- now presentingan outline to which an uninitiated person might havebeen puzzled to attach either meaning or use.The image as a whole was that of a small Noah'sArk on a small Ararat, allowing the traditionary outlinesand general form of the Ark which are followed by toy-makers -- and by these means are established in men'simaginations among their firmest, because earliest im-pressions -- to pass as an approximate pattern. Thehut stood on little wheels, which raised its floor about afoot from the ground. Such shepherds' huts are draggedinto the fields when the lambing season comes on, toshelter the shepherd in his- enforced nightly attendance.It was only latterly that people had begun to callGabriel ”Farmer” Oak. During the twelvemonth pre-ceding this time he had been enabled by sustainedefforts of industry and chronic good spirits to lease thesmall sheep farm of which Norcombe Hill was a portion,and stock it with two hundred sheep. Previously hehad been a bailiff for a short time, and earlier still ashepherd only, having from his childhood assisted hisfather in tending the flocks of large proprietors, till oldGabriel sank to rest.This venture, unaided and alone, into the paths offarming as master and not as man, with an advance ofsheep not yet paid for, was a critical juncture withGabriel Oak, and he recognised his position clearly.The first movement in his new progress was the lambingof his ewes, and sheep having been his speciality fromhis ”youth, he wisely refrained from deputing -- the taskof tending them at this season to a hireling or a novice.The wind continued to beat-about the corners of thehut, but the flute-playing ceased. A rectangular spaceof light appeared in the side of the hut, and in theopening the outline of Farmer Oak's figure. He carrieda lantern in his hand, and closing the door behind him,came forward and busied himself about this nook of thefield for nearly twenty minutes, the lantern light appear-ing and disappearing here and there, and brighteninghim or darkening him as he stood before or behind it.Oak's motions, though they had a quiet-energy, wereslow, and their deliberateness accorded well with hisoccupation. Fitness being the basis of beauty, nobodycould-have denied that his steady swings and turns”in and- about the flock had elements of grace, Yet,although if occasion demanded he could do or think athing with as mercurial a dash as can the men of townswho are more to the manner born, his special power,morally, physically, and mentally, was static, owinglittle or nothing to momentum as a rule.A close examination of the ground hereabout, evenby the wan starlight only, revealed how a portion ofwhat would have been casually called a wild slope hadbeen appropriated by Farmer Oak for his great purposethis winter. Detached hurdles thatched with strawwere stuck into the ground at various scattered points,amid and under which the whitish forms of his meekewes moved and rustled. The ring of the sheep-bell,which had been silent during his absence, recommenced,in tones that had more mellowness than clearness, owingto an increasing growth of surrounding wool. Thiscontinued till Oak withdrew again from the flock. He -- returned to the hut, bringing in his arms a new-bornlamb, consisting of four legs large enough for a full-grown sheep, united by a seemingly inconsiderable mem-brane about half the substance of the legs collectively,which constituted the animal's entire body just at present.The little speck of life he placed on a wisp of haybefore the small stove, where a can of milk was simmer-ing. Oak extinguished the lantern by blowing into itand then pinching the snuff, the cot being lightedby a candle suspended by a twisted wire. A ratherhard couch, formed of a few corn sacks thrown carelesslydown, covered half the floor of this little habitation, andhere the young man stretched himself along, loosenedhis woollen cravat, and closed his eyes. In about thetime a person unaccustomed to bodily labour would havedecided upon which side to lie, Farmer Oak was asleep.The inside of the hut, as it now presented itself, wascosy and alluring, and the scarlet handful of fire inaddition to the candle, reflecting its own genial colourupon whatever it could reach, flung associations ofenjoyment even over utensils and tools. In the cornerstood the sheep-crook, and along a shelf at one sidewere ranged bottles and canisters of the simple prepara-tions pertaining to bovine surgery and physic; spirits ofwine, turpentine, tar, magnesia, ginger, and castor-oilbeing the chief. On a triangular shelf across the cornerstood bread, bacon, cheese, and a cup for ale or cider,which was supplied from a flagon beneath. Beside theprovisions lay the flute whose notes had lately beencalled forth by the lonely watcher to beguile a tedioushour. The house was ventilated by two round holes,like the lights of a ship's cabin, with wood slides-The lamb, revived by the warmth began to bleat”instant meaning, as expected sounds will. Passingfrom the profoundest sleep to the most alert wakefulnesswith the same ease that had accompanied the reverseoperation, he looked at his watch, found that the hour-hand had shifted again, put on his hat, took the lambin his arms, and carried it into the darkness. Afterplacing the little creature with its mother, he stood andcarefully examined the sky, to ascertain the time ofnight from the altitudes of the stars.The Dog-star and Aldebaran, pointing to the restlessPleiades, were half-way up the Southern sky, and betweenthem hung Orion, which gorgeous constellation neverburnt more vividly than now, as it soared forth abovethe rim of the landscape. Castor and Pollux willthe north-west; far away through the plantation Vegaand Cassiopeia's chair stood daintily poised on theuppermost boughs. ”One o'clock.” said Gabriel.Being a man not without a frequent consciousnessthat there was some charm in this life he led, he stoodstill after looking at the sky as a useful instrument, andregarded it in an appreciative spirit, as a work of artsuperlatively beautiful. For a moment he seemedimpressed with the speaking loneliness of the scene, orrather with the complete abstraction from all its compassof the sights and sounds of man. Human shapes,interferences,troubles, and joys were all as if they were not, and thereseemed to be on the shaded hemisphere of the globe no sentientbeing save himself; he could fancy them all gone round to the sunny side. Occupied this, with eyes stretched afar, Oak gradually per-ceived that what he had previously taken to be a star lowdown behind the outskirts of the plantation was in reality nosuch thing. It was an artificial light, almost close at hand. To find themselves utterly alone at night where companyis desirable and expected makes some people fearful; but acase more trying by far to the nerves is to discover somemysterious companionship when intuition, sensation, memory,analogy, testimony, probability, induction -- every kind ofevidence in the logician's list -- have united to persuade con-sciousness that it is quite in isolation. Farmer Oak went towards the plantation and pushedthrough its lower boughs to the windy side. A dim mass underthe slope reminded him that a shed occupied a place here,the site being a cutting into the slope of the hill, so that atits back part the roof was almost level with the ground. Infront it was formed of board nailed to posts and covered withtar as a preservative. Through crevices in the roof and sidespread streaks and spots of light, a combination of which madethe radiance that had attracted him. Oak stepped up behind,where,leaning down upon the roof and putting his eye closeto a hole, he could see into the interior clearly. The place contained two women and two cows. By the sideof the latter a steaming bran-mash stood in a bucket. Oneof the women was past middle age. Her companion was ap-parently young and graceful; he could form no decided opinionupon her looks, her position being almost beneath his eye, sothat he saw her in a bird's-eye view, as Milton's Satan first sawParadise. She wore no bonnet or het, but had enveloped her-self in a large cloak, which was carelessly flung over her headas a covering. ”There, now we'll go home,” said the elder of the two, resting her knuckles upon her hips, and looking at their goings-on asa whole. ”I do hope Daisy will fetch round again now. I havenever been more frightened in my life, but I don't mind break-ing my rest if she recovers.” The young woman, whose eyelids were apparently inclinedto fall together on the smallest provocation of silence,yawnedin sympathy. ”I wish we were rich enough to pay a man to do thesethings,” she said. ”As we are not, we must do them ourselves,” said the other;”for you must help me if you stay.””Well, my hat is gone, however,” continued the younger. ”Itwent over the hedge, I think. The idea of such a slight windcatching it.” The cow standing erect was of the Devon breed, and wasencased in a tight warm hide of rich Indian red, as absolutelyuniform from eyes to tail as if the animal had been dipped ina dye of that colour, her long back being mathematically level.The other was spotted,grey and white. Beside her Oak nownoticed a little calf about a day old, looking idiotically atthe two women, which showed that it had not long beenaccustomed to the phenomenon of eyesight, and often turn-ing to the lantern, which it apparently mistook for the moon.inherited instinct having as yet had little time for correctionby experience. Between the sheep and the cows Lucina hadbeen busy on Norcombe hill lately. ”I think we had better send for some oatmeal,” said the”Yes, aunt; and I'll ride over for it as soon as it is light.””But there's no side-saddle.””I can ride on the other: trust me.”Oak, upon hearing these remarks, became morecurious to observe her features, but this prospect beingdenied him by the hooding effect of the cloak, and by hisaerial position, he felt himself drawing upon his fancyfor their details. In making even horizontal and clearinspections we colour and mould according to the wartswithin us whatever our eyes bring in. Had Gabrielbeen able from the first to get a distinct view of her -countenance, his estimate of it as very handsome orslightly so would have been as his soul required adivinity at the moment or was ready supplied with one.Having for some time known the want of a satisfactoryform to fill an increasing void within him, his positionmoreover affording the widest scope for his fancy, hepainted her a beauty.By one of those whimsical coincidences in whichNature, like a busy mother, seems to spare a momentfrom her unremitting labours to turn and make herchildren smile, the girl now dropped the cloak, andforth tumbled ropes of black hair over a red jacket.Oak knew her instantly as the heroine of the yellowwaggon, myrtles, and looking-glass: prosily, as thewoman who owed him twopence.They placed the calf beside its mother again, tookup the lantern, and went out, the light sinking downthe hill till it was no more than a nebula. GabrielOak returned to his flock.
CHAPTER III