‘No, thank you—not this evening, Durbeyfield. You’ve had enough already,’ Concluding thus, the parson rode on his way, with doubts as to his discretion in retailing this curious bit of lore.
When he was gone, Durbeyfield walked a few steps in a profound reverie, and then sat down upon the grassy bank by the roadside, depositing his basket before him. In a few minutes a youth appeared in the distance, walking in the same direction as that which had been pursued by Durbeyfield. The latter, on seeing him, held up his hand, and the lad quickened his pace, and came near.
‘Boy, take up that basket! I want ’ee to go on an errand for me.’
The lath-like stripling frowned. ‘Who be you, then, John Durbeyfield, to order me about and call me “boy”? You know my name as well as I know yours!’
‘Do you, do you? That’s the secret—that’s the secret! Now obey my orders, and take the message I’m going to charge ’ee wi’. . . . Well, Fred, I don’t mind telling you that the secret is that I’m one of a noble race—it has been just discovered by me this present afternoon, P.M.’
9
