Chapter X

by George Eliot

　　Justice Malam was naturally regarded in Tarley and Raveloe as a manof capacious mind, seeing that he could draw much wider conclusionswithout evidence than could be expected of his neighbours who werenot on the Commission of the Peace. Such a man was not likely toneglect the clue of the tinder-box, and an inquiry was set on footconcerning a pedlar, name unknown, with curly black hair and aforeign complexion, carrying a box of cutlery and jewellery, andwearing large rings in his ears. But either because inquiry was tooslow-footed to overtake him, or because the description applied toso many pedlars that inquiry did not know how to choose among them,weeks passed away, and there was no other result concerning therobbery than a gradual cessation of the excitement it had caused inRaveloe. Dunstan Cass's absence was hardly a subject of remark: hehad once before had a quarrel with his father, and had gone off,nobody knew whither, to return at the end of six weeks, take up hisold quarters unforbidden, and swagger as usual. His own family, whoequally expected this issue, with the sole difference that theSquire was determined this time to forbid him the old quarters,never mentioned his absence; and when his uncle Kimble or Mr. Osgoodnoticed it, the story of his having killed Wildfire, and committedsome offence against his father, was enough to prevent surprise. Toconnect the fact of Dunsey's disappearance with that of the robberyoccurring on the same day, lay quite away from the track of everyone's thought--even Godfrey's, who had better reason than any oneelse to know what his brother was capable of. He remembered nomention of the weaver between them since the time, twelve years ago,when it was their boyish sport to deride him; and, besides, hisimagination constantly created an alibi for Dunstan: he saw himcontinually in some congenial haunt, to which he had walked off onleaving Wildfire--saw him sponging on chance acquaintances, andmeditating a return home to the old amusement of tormenting hiselder brother. Even if any brain in Raveloe had put the said twofacts together, I doubt whether a combination so injurious to theprescriptive respectability of a family with a mural monument andvenerable tankards, would not have been suppressed as of unsoundtendency. But Christmas puddings, brawn, and abundance ofspirituous liquors, throwing the mental originality into the channelof nightmare, are great preservatives against a dangerousspontaneity of waking thought.When the robbery was talked of at the Rainbow and elsewhere, in goodcompany, the balance continued to waver between the rationalexplanation founded on the tinder-box, and the theory of animpenetrable mystery that mocked investigation. The advocates ofthe tinder-box-and-pedlar view considered the other side amuddle-headed and credulous set, who, because they themselves werewall-eyed, supposed everybody else to have the same blank outlook;and the adherents of the inexplicable more than hinted that theirantagonists were animals inclined to crow before they had found anycorn--mere skimming-dishes in point of depth--whoseclear-sightedness consisted in supposing there was nothing behind abarn-door because they couldn't see through it; so that, thoughtheir controversy did not serve to elicit the fact concerning therobbery, it elicited some true opinions of collateral importance.But while poor Silas's loss served thus to brush the slow current ofRaveloe conversation, Silas himself was feeling the witheringdesolation of that bereavement about which his neighbours werearguing at their ease. To any one who had observed him before helost his gold, it might have seemed that so withered and shrunken alife as his could hardly be susceptible of a bruise, could hardlyendure any subtraction but such as would put an end to italtogether. But in reality it had been an eager life, filled withimmediate purpose which fenced him in from the wide, cheerlessunknown. It had been a clinging life; and though the object roundwhich its fibres had clung was a dead disrupted thing, it satisfiedthe need for clinging. But now the fence was broken down--thesupport was snatched away. Marner's thoughts could no longer movein their old round, and were baffled by a blank like that whichmeets a plodding ant when the earth has broken away on its homewardpath. The loom was there, and the weaving, and the growing patternin the cloth; but the bright treasure in the hole under his feet wasgone; the prospect of handling and counting it was gone: the eveninghad no phantasm of delight to still the poor soul's craving. Thethought of the money he would get by his actual work could bring nojoy, for its meagre image was only a fresh reminder of his loss; andhope was too heavily crushed by the sudden blow for his imaginationto dwell on the growth of a new hoard from that small beginning.He filled up the blank with grief. As he sat weaving, he every nowand then moaned low, like one in pain: it was the sign that histhoughts had come round again to the sudden chasm--to the emptyevening-time. And all the evening, as he sat in his loneliness byhis dull fire, he leaned his elbows on his knees, and clasped hishead with his hands, and moaned very low--not as one who seeks tobe heard.And yet he was not utterly forsaken in his trouble. The repulsionMarner had always created in his neighbours was partly dissipated bythe new light in which this misfortune had shown him. Instead of aman who had more cunning than honest folks could come by, and, whatwas worse, had not the inclination to use that cunning in aneighbourly way, it was now apparent that Silas had not cunningenough to keep his own. He was generally spoken of as a "poormushed creatur"; and that avoidance of his neighbours, which hadbefore been referred to his ill-will and to a probable addiction toworse company, was now considered mere craziness.This change to a kindlier feeling was shown in various ways. Theodour of Christmas cooking being on the wind, it was the season whensuperfluous pork and black puddings are suggestive of charity inwell-to-do families; and Silas's misfortune had brought himuppermost in the memory of housekeepers like Mrs. Osgood.Mr. Crackenthorp, too, while he admonished Silas that his money hadprobably been taken from him because he thought too much of it andnever came to church, enforced the doctrine by a present of pigs'pettitoes, well calculated to dissipate unfounded prejudices againstthe clerical character. Neighbours who had nothing but verbalconsolation to give showed a disposition not only to greet Silas anddiscuss his misfortune at some length when they encountered him inthe village, but also to take the trouble of calling at his cottageand getting him to repeat all the details on the very spot; and thenthey would try to cheer him by saying, "Well, Master Marner, you'reno worse off nor other poor folks, after all; and if you was to becrippled, the parish 'ud give you a 'lowance."I suppose one reason why we are seldom able to comfort ourneighbours with our words is that our goodwill gets adulterated, inspite of ourselves, before it can pass our lips. We can send blackpuddings and pettitoes without giving them a flavour of our ownegoism; but language is a stream that is almost sure to smack of amingled soil. There was a fair proportion of kindness in Raveloe;but it was often of a beery and bungling sort, and took the shapeleast allied to the complimentary and hypocritical.Mr. Macey, for example, coming one evening expressly to let Silasknow that recent events had given him the advantage of standing morefavourably in the opinion of a man whose judgment was not formedlightly, opened the conversation by saying, as soon as he had seatedhimself and adjusted his thumbs--"Come, Master Marner, why, you've no call to sit a-moaning. You'rea deal better off to ha' lost your money, nor to ha' kep it by foulmeans. I used to think, when you first come into these parts, asyou were no better nor you should be; you were younger a deal thanwhat you are now; but you were allays a staring, white-facedcreatur, partly like a bald-faced calf, as I may say. But there'sno knowing: it isn't every queer-looksed thing as Old Harry's hadthe making of--I mean, speaking o' toads and such; for they'reoften harmless, like, and useful against varmin. And it's prettymuch the same wi' you, as fur as I can see. Though as to the yarbsand stuff to cure the breathing, if you brought that sort o'knowledge from distant parts, you might ha' been a bit freer of it.And if the knowledge wasn't well come by, why, you might ha' made upfor it by coming to church reg'lar; for, as for the children as theWise Woman charmed, I've been at the christening of 'em again andagain, and they took the water just as well. And that's reasonable;for if Old Harry's a mind to do a bit o' kindness for a holiday,like, who's got anything against it? That's my thinking; and I'vebeen clerk o' this parish forty year, and I know, when the parsonand me does the cussing of a Ash Wednesday, there's no cussing o'folks as have a mind to be cured without a doctor, let Kimble saywhat he will. And so, Master Marner, as I was saying--for there'swindings i' things as they may carry you to the fur end o' theprayer-book afore you get back to 'em--my advice is, as you keepup your sperrits; for as for thinking you're a deep un, and ha' gotmore inside you nor 'ull bear daylight, I'm not o' that opinion atall, and so I tell the neighbours. For, says I, you talk o' MasterMarner making out a tale--why, it's nonsense, that is: it 'ud takea 'cute man to make a tale like that; and, says I, he looked asscared as a rabbit."During this discursive address Silas had continued motionless in hisprevious attitude, leaning his elbows on his knees, and pressing hishands against his head. Mr. Macey, not doubting that he had beenlistened to, paused, in the expectation of some appreciatory reply,but Marner remained silent. He had a sense that the old man meantto be good-natured and neighbourly; but the kindness fell on him assunshine falls on the wretched--he had no heart to taste it, andfelt that it was very far off him."Come, Master Marner, have you got nothing to say to that?" saidMr. Macey at last, with a slight accent of impatience."Oh," said Marner, slowly, shaking his head between his hands, "Ithank you--thank you--kindly.""Aye, aye, to be sure: I thought you would," said Mr. Macey; "andmy advice is--have you got a Sunday suit?""No," said Marner."I doubted it was so," said Mr. Macey. "Now, let me advise youto get a Sunday suit: there's Tookey, he's a poor creatur, but he'sgot my tailoring business, and some o' my money in it, and he shallmake a suit at a low price, and give you trust, and then you cancome to church, and be a bit neighbourly. Why, you've never hearedme say "Amen" since you come into these parts, and I recommend youto lose no time, for it'll be poor work when Tookey has it all tohimself, for I mayn't be equil to stand i' the desk at all, comeanother winter." Here Mr. Macey paused, perhaps expecting somesign of emotion in his hearer; but not observing any, he went on."And as for the money for the suit o' clothes, why, you get amatter of a pound a-week at your weaving, Master Marner, and you'rea young man, eh, for all you look so mushed. Why, you couldn't ha'been five-and-twenty when you come into these parts, eh?"Silas started a little at the change to a questioning tone, andanswered mildly, "I don't know; I can't rightly say--it's a longwhile since."After receiving such an answer as this, it is not surprising thatMr. Macey observed, later on in the evening at the Rainbow, thatMarner's head was "all of a muddle", and that it was to be doubtedif he ever knew when Sunday came round, which showed him a worseheathen than many a dog.Another of Silas's comforters, besides Mr. Macey, came to him with amind highly charged on the same topic. This was Mrs. Winthrop, thewheelwright's wife. The inhabitants of Raveloe were not severelyregular in their church-going, and perhaps there was hardly a personin the parish who would not have held that to go to church everySunday in the calendar would have shown a greedy desire to standwell with Heaven, and get an undue advantage over their neighbours--a wish to be better than the "common run", that would haveimplied a reflection on those who had had godfathers and godmothersas well as themselves, and had an equal right to theburying-service. At the same time, it was understood to berequisite for all who were not household servants, or young men, totake the sacrament at one of the great festivals: Squire Casshimself took it on Christmas-day; while those who were held to be"good livers" went to church with greater, though still withmoderate, frequency.Mrs. Winthrop was one of these: she was in all respects a woman ofscrupulous conscience, so eager for duties that life seemed to offerthem too scantily unless she rose at half-past four, though thisthrew a scarcity of work over the more advanced hours of themorning, which it was a constant problem with her to remove. Yetshe had not the vixenish temper which is sometimes supposed to be anecessary condition of such habits: she was a very mild, patientwoman, whose nature it was to seek out all the sadder and moreserious elements of life, and pasture her mind upon them. She wasthe person always first thought of in Raveloe when there was illnessor death in a family, when leeches were to be applied, or there wasa sudden disappointment in a monthly nurse. She was a "comfortablewoman"--good-looking, fresh-complexioned, having her lips alwaysslightly screwed, as if she felt herself in a sick-room with thedoctor or the clergyman present. But she was never whimpering; noone had seen her shed tears; she was simply grave and inclined toshake her head and sigh, almost imperceptibly, like a funerealmourner who is not a relation. It seemed surprising that BenWinthrop, who loved his quart-pot and his joke, got along so wellwith Dolly; but she took her husband's jokes and joviality aspatiently as everything else, considering that "men would beso", and viewing the stronger sex in the light of animals whom ithad pleased Heaven to make naturally troublesome, like bulls andturkey-cocks.This good wholesome woman could hardly fail to have her mind drawnstrongly towards Silas Marner, now that he appeared in the light ofa sufferer; and one Sunday afternoon she took her little boy Aaronwith her, and went to call on Silas, carrying in her hand some smalllard-cakes, flat paste-like articles much esteemed in Raveloe.Aaron, an apple-cheeked youngster of seven, with a clean starchedfrill which looked like a plate for the apples, needed all hisadventurous curiosity to embolden him against the possibility thatthe big-eyed weaver might do him some bodily injury; and his dubietywas much increased when, on arriving at the Stone-pits, they heardthe mysterious sound of the loom."Ah, it is as I thought," said Mrs. Winthrop, sadly.They had to knock loudly before Silas heard them; but when he didcome to the door he showed no impatience, as he would once havedone, at a visit that had been unasked for and unexpected.Formerly, his heart had been as a locked casket with its treasureinside; but now the casket was empty, and the lock was broken. Leftgroping in darkness, with his prop utterly gone, Silas hadinevitably a sense, though a dull and half-despairing one, that ifany help came to him it must come from without; and there was aslight stirring of expectation at the sight of his fellow-men, afaint consciousness of dependence on their goodwill. He opened thedoor wide to admit Dolly, but without otherwise returning hergreeting than by moving the armchair a few inches as a sign that shewas to sit down in it. Dolly, as soon as she was seated, removedthe white cloth that covered her lard-cakes, and said in her gravestway--"I'd a baking yisterday, Master Marner, and the lard-cakes turnedout better nor common, and I'd ha' asked you to accept some, ifyou'd thought well. I don't eat such things myself, for a bit o'bread's what I like from one year's end to the other; but men'sstomichs are made so comical, they want a change--they do, I know,God help 'em."Dolly sighed gently as she held out the cakes to Silas, who thankedher kindly and looked very close at them, absently, being accustomedto look so at everything he took into his hand--eyed all the whileby the wondering bright orbs of the small Aaron, who had made anoutwork of his mother's chair, and was peeping round from behind it."There's letters pricked on 'em," said Dolly. "I can't read 'emmyself, and there's nobody, not Mr. Macey himself, rightly knowswhat they mean; but they've a good meaning, for they're the same asis on the pulpit-cloth at church. What are they, Aaron, my dear?"Aaron retreated completely behind his outwork."Oh, go, that's naughty," said his mother, mildly. "Well,whativer the letters are, they've a good meaning; and it's a stampas has been in our house, Ben says, ever since he was a little un,and his mother used to put it on the cakes, and I've allays put iton too; for if there's any good, we've need of it i' this world.""It's I. H. S.," said Silas, at which proof of learning Aaronpeeped round the chair again."Well, to be sure, you can read 'em off," said Dolly. "Ben'sread 'em to me many and many a time, but they slip out o' my mindagain; the more's the pity, for they're good letters, else theywouldn't be in the church; and so I prick 'em on all the loaves andall the cakes, though sometimes they won't hold, because o' therising--for, as I said, if there's any good to be got we've needof it i' this world--that we have; and I hope they'll bring goodto you, Master Marner, for it's wi' that will I brought you thecakes; and you see the letters have held better nor common."Silas was as unable to interpret the letters as Dolly, but there wasno possibility of misunderstanding the desire to give comfort thatmade itself heard in her quiet tones. He said, with more feelingthan before--"Thank you--thank you kindly." But he laid downthe cakes and seated himself absently--drearily unconscious of anydistinct benefit towards which the cakes and the letters, or evenDolly's kindness, could tend for him."Ah, if there's good anywhere, we've need of it," repeated Dolly,who did not lightly forsake a serviceable phrase. She looked atSilas pityingly as she went on. "But you didn't hear thechurch-bells this morning, Master Marner? I doubt you didn't knowit was Sunday. Living so lone here, you lose your count, I daresay;and then, when your loom makes a noise, you can't hear the bells,more partic'lar now the frost kills the sound.""Yes, I did; I heard 'em," said Silas, to whom Sunday bells were amere accident of the day, and not part of its sacredness. There hadbeen no bells in Lantern Yard."Dear heart!" said Dolly, pausing before she spoke again. "Butwhat a pity it is you should work of a Sunday, and not cleanyourself--if you didn't go to church; for if you'd a roastingbit, it might be as you couldn't leave it, being a lone man. Butthere's the bakehus, if you could make up your mind to spend atwopence on the oven now and then,--not every week, in course--Ishouldn't like to do that myself,--you might carry your bit o'dinner there, for it's nothing but right to have a bit o' summat hotof a Sunday, and not to make it as you can't know your dinner fromSaturday. But now, upo' Christmas-day, this blessed Christmas as isever coming, if you was to take your dinner to the bakehus, and goto church, and see the holly and the yew, and hear the anthim, andthen take the sacramen', you'd be a deal the better, and you'd knowwhich end you stood on, and you could put your trust i' Them asknows better nor we do, seein' you'd ha' done what it lies on us allto do."Dolly's exhortation, which was an unusually long effort of speechfor her, was uttered in the soothing persuasive tone with which shewould have tried to prevail on a sick man to take his medicine, or abasin of gruel for which he had no appetite. Silas had never beforebeen closely urged on the point of his absence from church, whichhad only been thought of as a part of his general queerness; and hewas too direct and simple to evade Dolly's appeal."Nay, nay," he said, "I know nothing o' church. I've never beento church.""No!" said Dolly, in a low tone of wonderment. Then bethinkingherself of Silas's advent from an unknown country, she said, "Couldit ha' been as they'd no church where you was born?""Oh, yes," said Silas, meditatively, sitting in his usual postureof leaning on his knees, and supporting his head. "There waschurches--a many--it was a big town. But I knew nothing of 'em--I went to chapel."Dolly was much puzzled at this new word, but she was rather afraidof inquiring further, lest "chapel" might mean some haunt ofwickedness. After a little thought, she said--"Well, Master Marner, it's niver too late to turn over a new leaf,and if you've niver had no church, there's no telling the good it'lldo you. For I feel so set up and comfortable as niver was, whenI've been and heard the prayers, and the singing to the praise andglory o' God, as Mr. Macey gives out--and Mr. Crackenthorp sayinggood words, and more partic'lar on Sacramen' Day; and if a bit o'trouble comes, I feel as I can put up wi' it, for I've looked forhelp i' the right quarter, and gev myself up to Them as we must allgive ourselves up to at the last; and if we'n done our part, itisn't to be believed as Them as are above us 'ull be worse nor weare, and come short o' Their'n."Poor Dolly's exposition of her simple Raveloe theology fell ratherunmeaningly on Silas's ears, for there was no word in it that couldrouse a memory of what he had known as religion, and hiscomprehension was quite baffled by the plural pronoun, which was noheresy of Dolly's, but only her way of avoiding a presumptuousfamiliarity. He remained silent, not feeling inclined to assent tothe part of Dolly's speech which he fully understood--herrecommendation that he should go to church. Indeed, Silas was sounaccustomed to talk beyond the brief questions and answersnecessary for the transaction of his simple business, that words didnot easily come to him without the urgency of a distinct purpose.But now, little Aaron, having become used to the weaver's awfulpresence, had advanced to his mother's side, and Silas, seeming tonotice him for the first time, tried to return Dolly's signs ofgood-will by offering the lad a bit of lard-cake. Aaron shrank backa little, and rubbed his head against his mother's shoulder, butstill thought the piece of cake worth the risk of putting his handout for it."Oh, for shame, Aaron," said his mother, taking him on her lap,however; "why, you don't want cake again yet awhile. He'swonderful hearty," she went on, with a little sigh--"that he is,God knows. He's my youngest, and we spoil him sadly, for either meor the father must allays hev him in our sight--that we must."She stroked Aaron's brown head, and thought it must do Master Marnergood to see such a "pictur of a child". But Marner, on the otherside of the hearth, saw the neat-featured rosy face as a mere dimround, with two dark spots in it."And he's got a voice like a bird--you wouldn't think," Dollywent on; "he can sing a Christmas carril as his father's taughthim; and I take it for a token as he'll come to good, as he canlearn the good tunes so quick. Come, Aaron, stan' up and sing thecarril to Master Marner, come."Aaron replied by rubbing his forehead against his mother's shoulder."Oh, that's naughty," said Dolly, gently. "Stan' up, when mothertells you, and let me hold the cake till you've done."Aaron was not indisposed to display his talents, even to an ogre,under protecting circumstances; and after a few more signs ofcoyness, consisting chiefly in rubbing the backs of his hands overhis eyes, and then peeping between them at Master Marner, to see ifhe looked anxious for the "carril", he at length allowed his headto be duly adjusted, and standing behind the table, which let himappear above it only as far as his broad frill, so that he lookedlike a cherubic head untroubled with a body, he began with a clearchirp, and in a melody that had the rhythm of an industrious hammer"God rest you, merry gentlemen,Let nothing you dismay,For Jesus Christ our SaviorWas born on Christmas-day."Dolly listened with a devout look, glancing at Marner in someconfidence that this strain would help to allure him to church."That's Christmas music," she said, when Aaron had ended, and hadsecured his piece of cake again. "There's no other music equil tothe Christmas music--"Hark the erol angils sing." And you mayjudge what it is at church, Master Marner, with the bassoon and thevoices, as you can't help thinking you've got to a better placea'ready--for I wouldn't speak ill o' this world, seeing as Themput us in it as knows best--but what wi' the drink, and thequarrelling, and the bad illnesses, and the hard dying, as I've seentimes and times, one's thankful to hear of a better. The boy singspretty, don't he, Master Marner?""Yes," said Silas, absently, "very pretty."The Christmas carol, with its hammer-like rhythm, had fallen on hisears as strange music, quite unlike a hymn, and could have none ofthe effect Dolly contemplated. But he wanted to show her that hewas grateful, and the only mode that occurred to him was to offerAaron a bit more cake."Oh, no, thank you, Master Marner," said Dolly, holding downAaron's willing hands. "We must be going home now. And so I wishyou good-bye, Master Marner; and if you ever feel anyways bad inyour inside, as you can't fend for yourself, I'll come and clean upfor you, and get you a bit o' victual, and willing. But I beg andpray of you to leave off weaving of a Sunday, for it's bad for souland body--and the money as comes i' that way 'ull be a bad bed tolie down on at the last, if it doesn't fly away, nobody knows where,like the white frost. And you'll excuse me being that free withyou, Master Marner, for I wish you well--I do. Make your bow,Aaron."Silas said "Good-bye, and thank you kindly," as he opened the doorfor Dolly, but he couldn't help feeling relieved when she was gone--relieved that he might weave again and moan at his ease. Hersimple view of life and its comforts, by which she had tried tocheer him, was only like a report of unknown objects, which hisimagination could not fashion. The fountains of human love and offaith in a divine love had not yet been unlocked, and his soul wasstill the shrunken rivulet, with only this difference, that itslittle groove of sand was blocked up, and it wandered confusedlyagainst dark obstruction.And so, notwithstanding the honest persuasions of Mr. Macey andDolly Winthrop, Silas spent his Christmas-day in loneliness, eatinghis meat in sadness of heart, though the meat had come to him as aneighbourly present. In the morning he looked out on the blackfrost that seemed to press cruelly on every blade of grass, whilethe half-icy red pool shivered under the bitter wind; but towardsevening the snow began to fall, and curtained from him even thatdreary outlook, shutting him close up with his narrow grief. And hesat in his robbed home through the livelong evening, not caring toclose his shutters or lock his door, pressing his head between hishands and moaning, till the cold grasped him and told him that hisfire was grey.Nobody in this world but himself knew that he was the same SilasMarner who had once loved his fellow with tender love, and trustedin an unseen goodness. Even to himself that past experience hadbecome dim.But in Raveloe village the bells rang merrily, and the church wasfuller than all through the rest of the year, with red faces amongthe abundant dark-green boughs--faces prepared for a longerservice than usual by an odorous breakfast of toast and ale. Thosegreen boughs, the hymn and anthem never heard but at Christmas--even the Athanasian Creed, which was discriminated from the othersonly as being longer and of exceptional virtue, since it was onlyread on rare occasions--brought a vague exulting sense, for whichthe grown men could as little have found words as the children, thatsomething great and mysterious had been done for them in heavenabove and in earth below, which they were appropriating by theirpresence. And then the red faces made their way through the blackbiting frost to their own homes, feeling themselves free for therest of the day to eat, drink, and be merry, and using thatChristian freedom without diffidence.At Squire Cass's family party that day nobody mentioned Dunstan--nobody was sorry for his absence, or feared it would be too long.The doctor and his wife, uncle and aunt Kimble, were there, and theannual Christmas talk was carried through without any omissions,rising to the climax of Mr. Kimble's experience when he walked theLondon hospitals thirty years back, together with strikingprofessional anecdotes then gathered. Whereupon cards followed,with aunt Kimble's annual failure to follow suit, and uncle Kimble'sirascibility concerning the odd trick which was rarely explicable tohim, when it was not on his side, without a general visitation oftricks to see that they were formed on sound principles: the wholebeing accompanied by a strong steaming odour of spirits-and-water.But the party on Christmas-day, being a strictly family party, wasnot the pre-eminently brilliant celebration of the season at the RedHouse. It was the great dance on New Year's Eve that made the gloryof Squire Cass's hospitality, as of his forefathers', time out ofmind. This was the occasion when all the society of Raveloe andTarley, whether old acquaintances separated by long rutty distances,or cooled acquaintances separated by misunderstandings concerningrunaway calves, or acquaintances founded on intermittentcondescension, counted on meeting and on comporting themselves withmutual appropriateness. This was the occasion on which fair dameswho came on pillions sent their bandboxes before them, supplied withmore than their evening costume; for the feast was not to end with asingle evening, like a paltry town entertainment, where the wholesupply of eatables is put on the table at once, and bedding isscanty. The Red House was provisioned as if for a siege; and as forthe spare feather-beds ready to be laid on floors, they were asplentiful as might naturally be expected in a family that had killedits own geese for many generations.Godfrey Cass was looking forward to this New Year's Eve with afoolish reckless longing, that made him half deaf to his importunatecompanion, Anxiety."Dunsey will be coming home soon: there will be a great blow-up,and how will you bribe his spite to silence?" said Anxiety."Oh, he won't come home before New Year's Eve, perhaps," saidGodfrey; "and I shall sit by Nancy then, and dance with her, andget a kind look from her in spite of herself.""But money is wanted in another quarter," said Anxiety, in alouder voice, "and how will you get it without selling yourmother's diamond pin? And if you don't get it...?""Well, but something may happen to make things easier. At anyrate, there's one pleasure for me close at hand: Nancy is coming.""Yes, and suppose your father should bring matters to a pass thatwill oblige you to decline marrying her--and to give yourreasons?""Hold your tongue, and don't worry me. I can see Nancy's eyes,just as they will look at me, and feel her hand in mine already."But Anxiety went on, though in noisy Christmas company; refusing tobe utterly quieted even by much drinking.