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Speaker 1: Chapter twenty one. There was a great stir in the

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milk house just after breakfast. The churn revolved as usual,

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but the butter would not come. Whenever this happened, the

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dairy was paralyzed. Squish squash echoed the milk and the

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great cylinder, but never arose the sound. They waited for

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Derriman Crick and his wife, the milkmaids, Tess, Marian, Retty, Priddle,

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is Hewett, and the married ones from the cottages, also

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mister Clare, Jonathan, Cale, Old Deborah and the rest stood

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gazing hopelessly at the churn, and the boy who kept

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the horse going outside put on moon like eyes to

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show his sense of the situation. Even the melancholy horse

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himself seemed to look in at the window in inquiring

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despair at each walk round Taes years since I went

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a conjuror trendles on Egton years, said the dairyman bitterly,

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And he was nothing to whatever his father had been.

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I've said it fifty times. If I have said it once,

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then I don't believe in him, And I don't believe

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in him, but I shall have to go to him

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if he's alive. But yes, I shall have to go

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to him if this sort of thing continues. Even mister

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Clare began to feel tragical at the dairyman's desperation, conjure

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a fall to other side of Casterbridge that they used

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to call Wide. Oh was a very good man when

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I was a boy, said Jonathan Cale. But he's rotten

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as touch would by now. My grandfather used to go

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to Counture and Mighton, help by Elscombe and a clever man.

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I was, so, I've heard grandfather say, continued mister. But

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there's no such genuine folk about nowadays. Missus Crick's mind

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kept nearer to the matter in hand. Perhaps somebody in

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the house is in love, she said tentatively. I've heard

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telling my younger days that that will cause it. Why

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Krick that made we had years ago? Do you mind

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and how the butter didn't come then? Oh, yes, yes,

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but that isn't the rights, aunt. It had nothing to

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do with the love making. I can make all about it.

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Twas the damage to the churn. He turned to Claire.

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Jack Dollop a hoarse burder, a fellow we had there

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as a milker at one time. Here, sir caught in

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a young woman over at Melstock and deceived her as

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he had deceived many afore. And he had another sort

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of woman to reckon we this time, and it were

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not the girlerslf. One holy Tuesday of all the days

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of the almanac, we was here as we mid be now,

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only there was no churning in hand when we sid

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the girl's mother coming up to the door with a

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great brass mounting umbrella in her hand that would have

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felled an ox, and saying, do Jack Dullop work here?

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Because I want him. I have a big bone to

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pick with he I can assure in. And some way

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behind her mother walked Jack's young woman, crying bitterly into

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her handkerchief. Lord there's a time, said Jack, looking out

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at the window at him. She'll murder me. Well shall

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I get where? Shall I? Don't tell her where I be?

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And with that he scrambled into the churn, through the

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trap door and shut himself inside, just as the young

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woman's mother busted into the milkhouse. A villain, where is he?

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Says she? Oh, claw's face for him? Let me only

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catch him. Well. She hunted about everywhere, bally ragging Jack

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by side and by seam, Jack lying a most stifled

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inside the churn, and the poor maid, oh young woman,

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rather standing at the door, crying her eyes out. I

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shall never forget it, never toWin a melted a marble stone.

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But she couldn't find him nowhere at all. The dairy

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man paused, and one or two words of comment came

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from the listeners. Dairyman crick stories often seemed to be

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ended where they were not really so, and strangers were

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betrayed into premature ejaculations of finality, though old friends knew better.

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The narrator went on, Well, how the old woman should

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have found the wit to guess it? I could never tell.

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But she found doubt that he was inside that there churn.

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Without saying a word, she took hold of the winch.

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It was turned by hand power, then and round she

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swung him, and Jack began to flock about inside. Oh Lord,

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stop the churn, let me out, says he, popping out

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his head. I shall be churned into a pummy. He

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was a cowardly chap in his heart, as most men

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mostly be. Not till ye may comment for ravaging her

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virgin innocence, says the woman. Stop the churn, Yo witch,

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screams he you call me o witch? Do you you deceiver?

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Her says she, when ye ought I had been calling

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me mother in law these last five months. And arm

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went the churn, and Jack's bones rattled around again, while

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none of us ventured to interfere, And at last I

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promised to make it right. We here, Yeah, yes, I'll

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be as good as my word, he said, And so

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it ended that day. While the listeners were smiling their comments,

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there was a quick movement behind their backs, and they

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looked round. Tess, pale faced, had gone to the door.

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How warm tis today? She said, almost inaudibly. It was warm,

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and none of them connected her withdrawal with the reminiscences

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of the dairyman. He went forward and opened the door

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for her, saying, with tender raillery, why madey He frequently

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with unconscious irony, gave her this pet name, the prettiest

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milker I've got in my dairy. You mustn't get so

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fagged as this at the first breath of summer weather. Oh,

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we shall be finally put to for one of ee

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by doug Day's sharp we mister Claire, I was faint,

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and I think I am better out of yours, she said,

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mechanically and disappeared outside. Fortunately for her, the milk and

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the revolving churn at that moment changed its squashing for

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a decided flick. Flack Tis come in, cried missus crick,

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and the attention of all was called off from tess.

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That fair sufferer soon recovered herself externally, but she remained

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much depressed all the afternoon. When the evening milking was done,

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she did not care to be with the rest of them,

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and went out of doors, wandering along. She knew not whither.

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She was wretched, oh so wretched at the perception that

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to her companions the dairy man's story had been rather

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a humorous narration than otherwise. None of them but herself

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seemed to see the sorrow of it to a certainty.

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Not one knew how cruelly it touched the tender place

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in her experience. The evening sun was now ugly to her,

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like a great inflamed wound in the sky. Only a solitary,

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cracked voice, Reed Sparrow greeted her from the bushes by

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the river, in a sad machine made tone resembling that

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of a past friend, whose friendship she had outworn in

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these long June days, the milkmaids, and indeed most of

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the household, went to bed at sunset or sooner. The

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morning worked before milking. Being so early and heavy at

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a time of full pails, Tess usually accompanied her fellows

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upstairs to night. However, she was the first to go

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to their common chamber, and she had dozed when the

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other girls came in. She saw them undressing in the

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orange light of the vanished sun, which flushed their forms

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with its color. She dozed again, but she was reawakened

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by their voices, and quietly turned her eyes towards them.

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Neither of her three chamber companions had got into bed.

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They were standing in a group in their night gowns, barefooted,

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at the window, the last red rays of the west

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still warming their faces and necks and the walls around them.

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They were watching somebody in the garden with deep interest,

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their three faces close together, a jovial and round one,

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a pale one with dark hair, and a fair one

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whose tresses were auban. Don't push you can see as well,

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as I said Retty, the auburn haired and youngest girl,

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without removing her eyes from the window. Tis no use

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for you to be in love with him any more

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than me, Retty Priddle said, jolly faced Marian, the eldest slyly,

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his thoughts be of other cheeks than thine. Retty Priddle

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still looked, and the other looked again. There he is again,

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cried is Hewett, the pale girl with dark, damp hair

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and keenly cut lips. You needn't say anything, is answered Retty.

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For isid you kissing his shade? What did you see

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her doing? Asked Marian. Why. He was standing over the

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way tub to let off the way, and the shade

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of his face came upon the wall behind, close to Ears,

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who was standing there filling a vat. She put her

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mouth against the wall and kissed the shade of his mouth.

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Isid her? Though he didn't, oh, is Hewett, said Marian.

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A rosy spot came into the middle of is Hewett's cheek. Well,

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there was no harmint, she declared, with attempted coolness. And

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if I be in love Ween, so is Retty too,

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and so be you. Marian. Come to that. Marian's full

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face could not blush past its chronic pinkness. Ay, she said,

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what a tale. Oh there he is again, dear eyes,

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dear face, dear mister Clare there you've owned it, so

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of you, so have we all, said Marian, with the

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dry frankness of complete indifference to opinion. It is silly

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to pretend otherwise amongst ourselves, though we need not own

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it to other folks. I we just marrying tomorrow, so

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would I, and more murmured is Hewett, and I too,

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whispered the more timid Retty. The listener grew warm. We

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can't all marry him, said, we shan't, either of us,

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which is worse still, said the eldest. There he is again.

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They all three blew him a silent kiss. Why, asked

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Retty quickly? Because he likes test Derby Field best, said Marian,

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lowering her voice. I have watched him every day and

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have found it out. There was a reflective silence. But

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she don't care anything for him? At length, breathed Retty. Well,

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I sometimes think that too. But how silly all this is,

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said is Hewett, impatiently. Of course he won't marry any

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one of us or Tess either. A gentleman's son is

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going to be a great landowner, and a farmer abroad

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more likely to ask us to come we in his

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farm hands. At so much a year, one side and

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another side, and Marian's plump figure sighed the biggest of all.

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Somebody in bed hard By sighed too. Tears came into

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the eyes of Retty Priddle, the pretty, red haired youngest,

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the last bard of the paradise so important in the

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County annals. They watched silently a little longer, their three

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faces still close together as before, and the triple hues

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of their hair mingling. But the unconscious mister Clare had

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gone indoors, and they saw him no more, and the

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chades beginning to deepen. They crept into their beds. In

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a few minutes they heard him ascend the ladder to

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his own room. Marian was soon snoring, but ears did

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not drop into forgetfulness for a long time. Retty Priddle

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cried herself to sleep. The deeper passioned Tess was very

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far from sleeping even then. This conversation was another of

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the bitter pills she had been obliged to swallow that day,

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scarce the least feeling of jealousy arose in her breast.

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For that matter, she knew herself to have the preference,

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being more more finely formed, better educated, and though the

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youngest except Doretti, more woman than either. She perceived that

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only the slightest ordinary care was necessary for holding her

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own in Angel Claire's heart against these her candid friends.

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But the grave question was ought she to do this.

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There was, to be sure, hardly a ghost of a

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chance for either of them in a serious sense. But

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there was, or had been, a chance of one or

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the other inspiring him with a passing fancy for her,

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and enjoying the pleasure of his attentions while he stayed there.

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Such unequal attachments had led to marriage, And she had

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heard from missus Crick that mister Clare had one day asked,

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in a laughing way, what would be the use of

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his marrying a fine lady? And, all the while ten

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thousand acres of colonial pasture to feed, and cattle to

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rear and corn to reap, a farm woman would be

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the only sensible kind of wife for him? And whether

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mister Clare had spoken seriously or not, why should she,

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who could never conscientiously allow any man to marry her now,

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and who had religiously determined that she would never be

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tempted to do so, draw off mister Clare's attention from

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other women, For the brief happiness of sunning herself in

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his eyes while he remained at Talbothay's end of chapter

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twenty one,