They came round by The Pure Drop Inn, and were turning out of the

high road to pass through a wicket-gate into the meadows, when one of

the women said-"The Load-a-Lord! Why, Tess Durbeyfield, if there isn't thy father

riding hwome in a carriage!"

A young member of the band turned her head at the exclamation.

She was a fine and handsome girl--not handsomer than some others,

possibly--but her mobile peony mouth and large innocent eyes added

eloquence to colour and shape. She wore a red ribbon in her hair,

and was the only one of the white company who could boast of such

a pronounced adornment. As she looked round Durbeyfield was seen

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moving along the road in a chaise belonging to The Pure Drop, driven

by a frizzle-headed brawny damsel with her gown-sleeves rolled above

her elbows. This was the cheerful servant of that establishment,

who, in her part of factotum, turned groom and ostler at times.

Durbeyfield, leaning back, and with his eyes closed luxuriously, was

waving his hand above his head, and singing in a slow recitative-

"I've-got-a-gr't-family-vault-at-Kingsbere--and

knighted-forefathers-in-lead-coffins-there!"

The clubbists tittered, except the girl called Tess--in whom a slow

heat seemed to rise at the sense that her father was making himself

foolish in their eyes. "He's tired, that's all," she said hastily, "and he has got a lift

home, because our own horse has to rest to-day."

"Bless thy simplicity, Tess," said her companions. "He's got his

market-nitch. Haw-haw!"

"Look here; I won't walk another inch with you, if you say any jokes

about him!" Tess cried, and the colour upon her cheeks spread over

her face and neck. In a moment her eyes grew moist, and her glance

drooped to the ground. Perceiving that they had really pained her

they said no more, and order again prevailed. Tess's pride would not

allow her to turn her head again, to learn what her father's meaning

was, if he had any; and thus she moved on with the whole body to the

enclosure where there was to be dancing on the green. By the time

the spot was reached she has recovered her equanimity, and tapped her

neighbour with her wand and talked as usual.

Tess Durbeyfield at this time of her life was a mere vessel of

emotion untinctured by experience. The dialect was on her tongue

to some extent, despite the village school: the characteristic

intonation of that dialect for this district being the voicing

approximately rendered by the syllable UR, probably as rich an

utterance as any to be found in human speech. The pouted-up deep red

mouth to which this syllable was native had hardly as yet settled

into its definite shape, and her lower lip had a way of thrusting the

middle of her top one upward, when they closed together after a word.




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