Adam Bede
was seeing to the poles and things here and I’ve agreed to’t. But if
anybody asks any questions upstairs, just you take no notice, and turn
the talk to something else, and I’ll be obliged to you. Now, let us go
on, for we’re pretty nigh the last, I think.”
“I know what to do, never fear,” said Bartle, moving on. “The news will
be good sauce to my dinner. Aye, aye, my boy, you’ll get on. I’ll back
you for an eye at measuring and a head-piece for figures, against any
man in this county and you’ve had good teaching—you’ve had good
teaching.”
When they got upstairs, the question which Arthur had left unsettled,
as to who was to be president, and who vice, was still under
discussion, so that Adam’s entrance passed without remark.
“It stands to sense,” Mr. Casson was saying, “as old Mr. Poyser, as is
th’ oldest man i’ the room, should sit at top o’ the table. I wasn’t
butler fifteen year without learning the rights and the wrongs about
dinner.”
“Nay, nay,” said old Martin, “I’n gi’en up to my son; I’m no tenant
now: let my son take my place. Th’ ould foulks ha’ had their turn: they
mun make way for the young uns.”
“I should ha’ thought the biggest tenant had the best right, more nor
th’ oldest,” said Luke Britton, who was not fond of the critical Mr.
Poyser; “there’s Mester Holdsworth has more land nor anybody else on
th’ estate.”
“Well,” said Mr. Poyser, “suppose we say the man wi’ the foulest land
shall sit at top; then whoever gets th’ honour, there’ll be no envying
on him.”
“Eh, here’s Mester Massey,” said Mr. Craig, who, being a neutral in the
dispute, had no interest but in conciliation; “the schoolmaster ought
to be able to tell you what’s right. Who’s to sit at top o’ the table,
Mr. Massey?”
“Why, the broadest man,” said Bartle; “and then he won’t take up other
folks’ room; and the next broadest must sit at bottom.”
This happy mode of settling the dispute produced much laughter—a
smaller joke would have sufficed for that. Mr. Casson, however, did not
feel it compatible with his dignity and superior knowledge to join in
the laugh, until it turned out that he was fixed on as the second
broadest man. Martin Poyser the younger, as the broadest, was to be
president, and Mr. Casson, as next broadest, was to be vice.
Owing to this arrangement, Adam, being, of course, at the bottom of the
table, fell under the immediate observation of Mr. Casson, who, too
much occupied with the question of precedence, had not hitherto noticed
his entrance. Mr. Casson, we have seen, considered Adam “rather lifted
up and peppery-like”: he thought the gentry made more fuss about this
young carpenter than was necessary; they made no fuss about Mr. Casson,
although he had been an excellent butler for fifteen years.
“Well, Mr. Bede, you’re one o’ them as mounts hup’ards apace,” he said,
when Adam sat down. “You’ve niver dined here before, as I remember.”
“No, Mr. Casson,” said Adam, in his strong voice, that could be heard
along the table; “I’ve never dined here before, but I come by Captain
Donnithorne’s wish, and I hope it’s not disagreeable to anybody here.”
“Nay, nay,” said several voices at once, “we’re glad ye’re come. Who’s
got anything to say again’ it?”
“And ye’ll sing us ‘Over the hills and far away,’ after dinner, wonna
ye?” said Mr. Chowne. “That’s a song I’m uncommon fond on.”
“Peeh!” said Mr. Craig; “it’s not to be named by side o’ the Scotch
tunes. I’ve never cared about singing myself; I’ve had something better
to do. A man that’s got the names and the natur o’ plants in’s head
isna likely to keep a hollow place t’ hold tunes in. But a second
cousin o’ mine, a drovier, was a rare hand at remembering the Scotch
tunes. He’d got nothing else to think on.”
“The Scotch tunes!” said Bartle Massey, contemptuously; “I’ve heard
enough o’ the Scotch tunes to last me while I live. They’re fit for
nothing but to frighten the birds with—that’s to say, the English
birds, for the Scotch birds may sing Scotch for what I know. Give the
lads a bagpipe instead of a rattle, and I’ll answer for it the corn ’ll
be safe.”
“Yes, there’s folks as find a pleasure in undervallying what they know
but little about,” said Mr. Craig.
“Why, the Scotch tunes are just like a scolding, nagging woman,” Bartle
went on, without deigning to notice Mr. Craig’s remark. “They go on
with the same thing over and over again, and never come to a reasonable
end. Anybody ’ud think the Scotch tunes had always been asking a
question of somebody as deaf as old Taft, and had never got an answer
yet.”
Adam minded the less about sitting by Mr. Casson, because this position
enabled him to see Hetty, who was not far off him at the next table.
Hetty, however, had not even noticed his presence yet, for she was
giving angry attention to Totty, who insisted on drawing up her feet on
to the bench in antique fashion, and thereby threatened to make dusty
marks on Hetty’s pink-and-white frock. No sooner were the little fat
legs pushed down than up they came again, for Totty’s eyes were too
busy in staring at the large dishes to see where the plum pudding was
for her to retain any consciousness of her legs. Hetty got quite out of
patience, and at last, with a frown and pout, and gathering tears, she
said, “Oh dear, Aunt, I wish you’d speak to Totty; she keeps putting
her legs up so, and messing my frock.”
“What’s the matter wi’ the child? She can niver please you,” said the
mother. “Let her come by the side o’ me, then. _I_ can put up wi’ her.”
Adam was looking at Hetty, and saw the frown, and pout, and the dark
eyes seeming to grow larger with pettish half-gathered tears. Quiet
Mary Burge, who sat near enough to see that Hetty was cross and that
Adam’s eyes were fixed on her, thought that so sensible a man as Adam
must be reflecting on the small value of beauty in a woman whose temper
was bad. Mary was a good girl, not given to indulge in evil feelings,
but she said to herself, that, since Hetty had a bad temper, it was
better Adam should know it. And it was quite true that if Hetty had
been plain, she would have looked very ugly and unamiable at that
moment, and no one’s moral judgment upon her would have been in the
least beguiled. But really there was something quite charming in her
pettishness: it looked so much more like innocent distress than ill
humour; and the severe Adam felt no movement of disapprobation; he only
felt a sort of amused pity, as if he had seen a kitten setting up its
back, or a little bird with its feathers ruffled. He could not gather
what was vexing her, but it was impossible to him to feel otherwise
than that she was the prettiest thing in the world, and that if he
could have his way, nothing should ever vex her any more. And
presently, when Totty was gone, she caught his eye, and her face broke
into one of its brightest smiles, as she nodded to him. It was a bit of
flirtation—she knew Mary Burge was looking at them. But the smile was
like wine to Adam.
Chapter XXIV
The Health-Drinking
When the dinner was over, and the first draughts from the great cask of
birthday ale were brought up, room was made for the broad Mr. Poyser at
the side of the table, and two chairs were placed at the head. It had
been settled very definitely what Mr. Poyser was to do when the young
squire should appear, and for the last five minutes he had been in a
state of abstraction, with his eyes fixed on the dark picture opposite,
and his hands busy with the loose cash and other articles in his
breeches pockets.
When the young squire entered, with Mr. Irwine by his side, every one
stood up, and this moment of homage was very agreeable to Arthur. He
liked to feel his own importance, and besides that, he cared a great
deal for the good-will of these people: he was fond of thinking that
they had a hearty, special regard for him. The pleasure he felt was in
his face as he said, “My grandfather and I hope all our friends here
have enjoyed their dinner, and find my birthday ale good. Mr. Irwine
and I are come to taste it with you, and I am sure we shall all like
anything the better that the rector shares with us.”
All eyes were now turned on Mr. Poyser, who, with his hands still busy
in his pockets, began with the deliberateness of a slow-striking clock.
“Captain, my neighbours have put it upo’ me to speak for ’em to-day,
for where folks think pretty much alike, one spokesman’s as good as a
score. And though we’ve mayhappen got contrairy ways o’ thinking about
a many things—one man lays down his land one way an’ another
another—an’ I’ll not take it upon me to speak to no man’s farming, but
my own—this I’ll say, as we’re all o’ one mind about our young squire.
We’ve pretty nigh all on us known you when you war a little un, an’
we’ve niver known anything on you but what was good an’ honorable. You
speak fair an’ y’ act fair, an’ we’re joyful when we look forrard to
your being our landlord, for we ’lieve you mean to do right by
everybody, an’ ’ull make no man’s bread bitter to him if you can help
it. That’s what I mean, an’ that’s what we all mean; and when a man’s
said what he means, he’d better stop, for th’ ale ’ull be none the
better for stannin’. An’ I’ll not say how we like th’ ale yet, for we
couldna well taste it till we’d drunk your health in it; but the dinner
was good, an’ if there’s anybody hasna enjoyed it, it must be the fault
of his own inside. An’ as for the rector’s company, it’s well known as
that’s welcome t’ all the parish wherever he may be; an’ I hope, an’ we
all hope, as he’ll live to see us old folks, an’ our children grown to
men an’ women an’ Your Honour a family man. I’ve no more to say as
concerns the present time, an’ so we’ll drink our young squire’s
health—three times three.”
Hereupon a glorious shouting, a rapping, a jingling, a clattering, and
a shouting, with plentiful _da capo_, pleasanter than a strain of
sublimest music in the ears that receive such a tribute for the first
time. Arthur had felt a twinge of conscience during Mr. Poyser’s
speech, but it was too feeble to nullify the pleasure he felt in being
praised. Did he not deserve what was said of him on the whole? If there
was something in his conduct that Poyser wouldn’t have liked if he had
known it, why, no man’s conduct will bear too close an inspection; and
Poyser was not likely to know it; and, after all, what had he done?
Gone a little too far, perhaps, in flirtation, but another man in his
place would have acted much worse; and no harm would come—no harm
_should_ come, for the next time he was alone with Hetty, he would
explain to her that she must not think seriously of him or of what had
passed. It was necessary to Arthur, you perceive, to be satisfied with
himself. Uncomfortable thoughts must be got rid of by good intentions
for the future, which can be formed so rapidly that he had time to be
uncomfortable and to become easy again before Mr. Poyser’s slow speech
was finished, and when it was time for him to speak he was quite
light-hearted.
“I thank you all, my good friends and neighbours,” Arthur said, “for
the good opinion of me, and the kind feelings towards me which Mr.
Poyser has been expressing on your behalf and on his own, and it will
always be my heartiest wish to deserve them. In the course of things we
may expect that, if I live, I shall one day or other be your landlord;
indeed, it is on the ground of that expectation that my grandfather has
wished me to celebrate this day and to come among you now; and I look
forward to this position, not merely as one of power and pleasure for
myself, but as a means of benefiting my neighbours. It hardly becomes
so young a man as I am to talk much about farming to you, who are most
of you so much older, and are men of experience; still, I have