No observation being offered by anybody in elucidation of this enigma, the shepherd"s wife once more called for a song. The same obstacles presented themselves as at the former time: one had no voice, another had forgotten the first verse. The stranger at the table, whose soul had now risen to a good working temperature, relieved the difficulty by exclaiming that, to start the company, he would sing himself. Thrusting one thumb into the armhole of his waistcoat, he waved the other hand in the air, and, with an extemporising gaze at the shining sheep-crooks above the mantelpiece, began:

"Oh, my trade it is the rarest one, Simple shepherds all, My trade is a sight to see; For my customers I tie, and take them up on high, And waft "em to a far countree."

The room was silent when he had finished the verse, with one exception, that of the man in the chimney-corner, who, at the singer"s word, "Chorus!" joined him in a deep ba.s.s voice of musical relish:

"And waft "em to a far countree."

Oliver Giles, John Pitcher, the dairyman, the parish clerk, the engaged man of fifty, the row of young women against the wall, seemed lost in thought not of the gayest kind. The shepherd looked meditatively on the ground; the shepherdess gazed keenly at the singer, and with some suspicion; she was doubting whether this stranger was merely singing an old song from recollection, or composing one there and then for the occasion. All were as perplexed at the obscure revelation as the guests at Belshazzar"s feast, except the man in the chimney-corner, who quietly said, "Second verse, stranger," and smoked on.

The singer thoroughly moistened himself from his lips inward, and went on with the next stanza, as requested:

"My tools are but common ones, Simple shepherds all, My tools are no sight to see: A little hempen string, and a post whereon to swing, Are implements enough for me."

Shepherd Fennel glanced round. There was no longer any doubt that the stranger was answering his question rhythmically. The guests one and all started back with suppressed exclamations. The young woman engaged to the man of fifty fainted half-way, and would have proceeded, but, finding him wanting in alacrity for catching her, she sat down trembling.

"Oh, he"s the--" whispered the people in the background, mentioning the name of an ominous public officer. "He"s come to do it. "T is to be at Casterbridge gaol to-morrow--the man for sheep-stealing--the poor clock-maker we heard of, who used to live away at Anglebury and had no work to do--Timothy Sommers, whose family were a-starving, and so he went out of Anglebury by the highroad, and took a sheep in open daylight, defying the farmer and the farmer"s wife and the farmer"s man and every man Jack among "em. He" (and they nodded toward the stranger of the terrible trade) "is come from up the country to do it because there"s not enough to do in his own county town, and he"s got the place here, now our own county man"s dead; he"s going to live in the same cottage under the prison wall."

The stranger in cinder gray took no notice of this whispered string of observations, but again wetted his lips. Seeing that his friend in the chimney-corner was the only one who reciprocated his joviality in any way, he held out his cup toward that appreciative comrade, who also held out his own. They clinked together, the eyes of the rest of the room hanging upon the singer"s actions. He parted his lips for the third verse, but at that moment another knock was audible upon the door. This time the knock was faint and hesitating.

The company seemed scared; the shepherd looked with consternation toward the entrance, and it was with some effort that he resisted his alarmed wife"s deprecatory glance, and uttered for the third time the welcoming words, "Walk in!"

The door was gently opened, and another man stood upon the mat.

He, like those who had preceded him, was a stranger. This time it was a short, small personage, of fair complexion, and dressed in a decent suit of dark clothes.

"Can you tell me the way to--" he began; when, gazing round the room to observe the nature of the company among whom he had fallen, his eyes lighted on the stranger in cinder gray. It was just at the instant when the latter, who had thrown his mind into his song with such a will that he scarcely heeded the interruption, silenced all whispers and inquiries by bursting into his third verse:

"To-morrow is my working-day, Simple shepherds all, To-morrow is a working-day for me; For the farmer"s sheep is slain, and the lad who did it ta"en, And on his soul may G.o.d ha" merc-y!"

The stranger in the chimney-corner, waving cup with the singer so heartily that his mead splashed over on the hearth, repeated in his ba.s.s voice as before:

"And on his soul may G.o.d ha" mercy!"

All this time the third stranger had been standing in the doorway.

Finding now that he did not come forward or go on speaking, the guests particularly regarded him. They noticed, to their surprise, that he stood before them the picture of abject terror-his knees trembling, his hand shaking so violently that the door-latch, by which he supported himself, rattled audibly; his white lips were parted, and his eyes fixed on the merry officer of justice in the middle of the room. A moment more, and he had turned, closed the door, and fled.

"What a man can it be?" said the shepherd.

The rest, between the awfulness of their late discovery and the odd conduct of this third visitor, looked as if they knew not what to think, and said nothing. Instinctively they withdrew farther and farther from the grim gentleman in their midst, whom some of them seemed to take for the prince of darkness himself, till they formed a remote circle, an empty s.p.a.ce of floor being left between them and him--

"Circulus, cujus centrum diabolus."

The room was so silent--though there were more than twenty people in it--that nothing could be heard but the patter of the rain against the window-shutters, accompanied by the occasional hiss of a stray drop that fell down the chimney into the fire, and the steady puffing of the man in the corner, who had now resumed his pipe of long clay.

The stillness was unexpectedly broken. The distant sound of a gun reverberated through the air, apparently from the direction of the county town.

"Be jiggered!" cried the stranger who had sung the song, jumping up.

"What does that mean?" asked several.

"A prisoner escaped from the gaol--that "s what it means."

All listened. The sound was repeated, and none of them spoke but the man in the chimney-corner, who said quietly, "I"ve often been told that in this county they fire a gun at such times, but I never heard it till now."

"I wonder if it is _my_ man?" murmured personage in cinder gray.

"Surely it is!" said the shepherd, involuntarily. "And surely we"ve seen him! That little man who looked in at the door by now, and quivered like a leaf when he seed ye and heard your song."

"His teeth chattered, and the breath went out of his body," said the dairyman.

"And his heart seemed to sink within him like a stone," said Oliver Giles.

"And he bolted as if he"d been shot at," said the hedge-carpenter.

"True--his teeth chattered, and his heart seemed to sink, and he bolted as if he"d been shot at," slowly summed up the man in the chimney-corner.

"I didn"t notice it," remarked the grim songster.

"We were all a-wondering what made him run off in such a fright,"

faltered one of the women against the wall, "and now"t is explained."

The firing of the alarm-gun went on at intervals, low and sullenly, and their suspicions became a certainty. The sinister gentleman in cinder gray roused himself. "Is there a constable here?" he asked, in thick tones. "If so, let him step forward."

The engaged man of fifty stepped quavering out of the corner, his betrothed beginning to sob on the back of the chair.

"You are a sworn constable?"

"I be, sir."

"Then pursue the criminal at once, with a.s.sistance, and bring him back here. He can"t have gone far."

"I will, sir, I will--when I"ve got my staff. I"ll home and get it, and come sharp here, and start in a body."

"Staff! never mind your staff--the man"ll be gone!"

"But I can"t do nothing without my staff--can I, William, and John, and Charles Jake? No; for there"s the king"s royal crown a-painted on en in yaller and gold, and the lion and the unicorn, so as when I raise en up and hit my prisoner"t is made a lawful blow thereby.

I wouldn"t "tempt to take up a man without my staff--no, not I. If I hadn"t the law to gie me courage, why, instead o" my taking him up he might take up me!"

"Now, I"m a king"s man myself, and can give you authority enough for this," said the formidable person in cinder gray. "Now then, all of ye, be ready. Have ye any lanterns?"

"Yes; have ye any lanterns? I demand it," said the constable.

"And the rest of you able-bodied--"

"Able-bodied men--yes--the rest of ye," said the constable.

"Have you some good stout staves and pitchforks--"

"Staves and pitchforks--in the name o" the law. And take "em in yer hands and go in quest, and do as we in authority tell ye."