TESS OF THE D’URBERVILLES
‘’Tis years since I went to Conjuror Trendle’s son in Egdon—years,’ said the dairyman bitterly. ‘And he was nothing to what his father had been. I have said fifty times, if I have said once, that I don’t believe in him. And I don’t believe in him. But I shall have to go to him if he’s alive. Oh yes, I shall have to go to him, if this sort of thing continnys!’
Even Mr. Clare began to feel tragical at the dairyman’s desperation.
‘Conjuror Fall, ’tother side of Casterbridge, that they used to call “Wide-O,” was a very good man when I was a boy,’ said Jonathan Kail. ‘But he’s rotten as touchwood by now.’
‘My grandfather used to go to Conjuror Mynterne, out at Owlscombe, and a clever man a’ were, so I’ve heard grandfather say,’ continued Mr, Crick. ‘But there’s no such genuine folk about nowadays!’
Mrs. Crick’s mind kept nearer to the matter in hand.
‘Perhaps somebody in the house is in love,’ she said tentatively. ‘I’ve heard tell in my younger days that that will cause it. Why, Crick—that maid we had years ago, do ye mind, and how the butter didn’t come then———’
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