place in Joan Durbeyfield’s mind. It prompted the matron to say that she would walk a little way—as far as to the point where the acclivity from the valley began its first steep ascent to the outer world. At the top Tess was going to be met with the spring-cart sent by the Stoke-D’Urbervilles, and her box had already been wheeled ahead towards this summit by a lad with trucks, to be in readiness.
Seeing their mother put on her bonnet the younger children clamoured to go with her.
‘I do want to walk a little-ways wi’ Sissy, now she’s going to marry our gentleman-cousin, and wear fine cloze!’
‘Now,’ said Tess, flushing and turning quickly, ‘I’ll hear no more o’ that! Mother, how could you ever put such stuff into their heads?’
‘Going to work, my dears, for our rich relation, and help get enough money for a new horse,’ said Mrs. Durbeyfield pacifically.
‘Good-bye, father’, said Tess, with a lumpy throat.
‘Good-bye, my maid’, said Sir John, raising his head from his breast as he suspended his nap, induced by a slight excess this morning in honour
92
