Boldwood was listlessly noting how the frost had hardened and glazed the surface of the snow, till it shone in the red eastern light wit-h the polish of marble; how, in some portions of the slope, withered grass-bents, encased in icicles, bristled through the smooth wan coverlet in the twisted and curved shapes of old Venetian glass; and how the footprints of a few birds, which had hopped over the snow whilst it lay in the state of a soft fleece, were now frozen to a short permanency. A half-muffled noise of light wheels interrupted him. Boldwood turned back into the road. It was the mail-cart -- a crazy, two-wheeled vehicle, hardly heavy enough to resist a puff of wind. The driver held out a letter. Boldwood seized it and opened it, expecting another anonymous one -- so greatly are people's ideas of probability a mere sense that precedent will repeat itself.
"I don't think it is for you, sir." said the man, when he saw Boldwood's action. "Though there is no name I think it is for your shepherd."
Boldwood looked then at the address -To the New Shepherd, Weatherbury Farm, Near Casterbridge.
"Oh -- what a mistake! -- it is not mine. Nor is it for my shepherd. It is for Miss Everdene's." You had better take it on to him -- Gabriel Oak -- and say I opened it in mistake."
At this moment, on the ridge, up against the blazing sky, a figure was visible, like the black snuff in the midst of a candle-flame. Then it moved and began to bustle about vigorously from place to place, carrying square skeleton masses, which were riddled by the same rays. A small figure on all fours followed behind. The tall form was that of Gabriel Oak; the small one that of George; the articles in course of transit were hurdles.
"Wait," said Boldwood." That's the man on the hill.
I'll take the letter to him myself."
To Boldwood it was now no longer merely a letter to I another man. It was an opportunity. Exhibiting a face pregnant with intention, he entered the snowy field.
Gabriel, at that minute, descended the hill towards the right. The glow stretched down in this direction now, and touched the distant roof of Warren's Malthouse whither the shepherd was apparently bent: Boldwood followed at a distance.