Chapter: <CHAPTER>
4--Eustacia Is Led on to an Adventure


In the evening of this last day of expectation, which was the
twenty-third of December, Eustacia was at home alone. She had passed
the recent hour in lamenting over a rumour newly come to her ears--that
Yeobright's visit to his mother was to be of short duration, and would
end some time the next week. "Naturally," she said to herself. A man
in the full swing of his activities in a gay city could not afford to
linger long on Egdon Heath. That she would behold face to face the owner
of the awakening voice within the limits of such a holiday was most
unlikely, unless she were to haunt the environs of his mother's house
like a robin, to do which was difficult and unseemly.

The customary expedient of provincial girls and men in such
circumstances is churchgoing. In an ordinary village or country town
one can safely calculate that, either on Christmas day or the Sunday
contiguous, any native home for the holidays, who has not through age or
ennui lost the appetite for seeing and being seen, will turn up in some
pew or other, shining with hope, self-consciousness, and new clothes.
Thus the congregation on Christmas morning is mostly a Tussaud
collection of celebrities who have been born in the neighbourhood.
Hither the mistress, left neglected at home all the year, can steal and
observe the development of the returned lover who has forgotten her, and
think as she watches him over her prayer book that he may throb with
a renewed fidelity when novelties have lost their charm. And hither
a comparatively recent settler like Eustacia may betake herself to
scrutinize the person of a native son who left home before her advent
upon the scene, and consider if the friendship of his parents be worth
cultivating during his next absence in order to secure a knowledge of
him on his next return.

But these tender schemes were not feasible among the scattered
inhabitants of Egdon Heath. In name they were parishioners, but
virtually they belonged to no parish at all. People who came to these
few isolated houses to keep Christmas with their friends remained
in their friends' chimney-corners drinking mead and other comforting
liquors till they left again for good and all. Rain, snow, ice, mud
everywhere around, they did not care to trudge two or three miles to
sit wet-footed and splashed to the nape of their necks among those
who, though in some measure neighbours, lived close to the church, and
entered it clean and dry. Eustacia knew it was ten to one that Clym
Yeobright would go to no church at all during his few days of leave, and
that it would be a waste of labour for her to go driving the pony and
gig over a bad road in hope to see him there.

It was dusk, and she was sitting by the fire in the dining-room or
hall, which they occupied at this time of the year in preference to the
parlour, because of its large hearth, constructed for turf-fires, a
fuel the captain was partial to in the winter season. The only visible
articles in the room were those on the window-sill, which showed their
shapes against the low sky, the middle article being the old hourglass,
and the other two a pair of ancient British urns which had been dug
from a barrow near, and were used as flowerpots for two razor-leaved
cactuses. Somebody knocked at the door. The servant was out; so was her
grandfather. The person, after waiting a minute, came in and tapped at
the door of the room.

"Who's there?" said Eustacia.

"Please, Cap'n Vye, will you let us----"

Eustacia arose and went to the door. "I cannot allow you to come in so
boldly. You should have waited."

"The cap'n said I might come in without any fuss," was answered in a
lad's pleasant voice.

"Oh, did he?" said Eustacia more gently. "What do you want, Charley?"

"Please will your grandfather lend us his fuelhouse to try over our
parts in, tonight at seven o'clock?"

"What, are you one of the Egdon mummers for this year?"

"Yes, miss. The cap'n used to let the old mummers practise here."

"I know it. Yes, you may use the fuelhouse if you like," said Eustacia
languidly.

The choice of Captain Vye's fuelhouse as the scene of rehearsal was
dictated by the fact that his dwelling was nearly in the centre of the
heath. The fuelhouse was as roomy as a barn, and was a most desirable
place for such a purpose. The lads who formed the company of players
lived at different scattered points around, and by meeting in this spot
the distances to be traversed by all the comers would be about equally
proportioned.

For mummers and mumming Eustacia had the greatest contempt. The mummers
themselves were not afflicted with any such feeling for their art,
though at the same time they were not enthusiastic. A traditional
pastime is to be distinguished from a mere revival in no more striking
feature than in this, that while in the revival all is excitement and
fervour, the survival is carried on with a stolidity and absence of
stir which sets one wondering why a thing that is done so perfunctorily
should be kept up at all. Like Balaam and other unwilling prophets, the
agents seem moved by an inner compulsion to say and do their allotted
parts whether they will or no. This unweeting manner of performance is
the true ring by which, in this refurbishing age, a fossilized survival
may be known from a spurious reproduction.

The piece was the well-known play of Saint George, and all who were
behind the scenes assisted in the preparations, including the women of
each household. Without the co-operation of sisters and sweethearts the
dresses were likely to be a failure; but on the other hand, this class
of assistance was not without its drawbacks. The girls could never be
brought to respect tradition in designing and decorating the armour;
they insisted on attaching loops and bows of silk and velvet in any
situation pleasing to their taste. Gorget, gusset, basinet, cuirass,
gauntlet, sleeve, all alike in the view of these feminine eyes were
practicable spaces whereon to sew scraps of fluttering colour.

It might be that Joe, who fought on the side of Christendom, had a
sweetheart, and that Jim, who fought on the side of the Moslem, had
one likewise. During the making of the costumes it would come to the
knowledge of Joe's sweetheart that Jim's was putting brilliant silk
scallops at the bottom of her lover's surcoat, in addition to the
ribbons of the visor, the bars of which, being invariably formed of
coloured strips about half an inch wide hanging before the face, were
mostly of that material. Joe's sweetheart straight-way placed brilliant
silk on the scallops of the hem in question, and, going a little
further, added ribbon tufts to the shoulder pieces. Jim's, not to be
outdone, would affix bows and rosettes everywhere.

The result was that in the end the Valiant Soldier, of the Christian
army, was distinguished by no peculiarity of accoutrement from the
Turkish Knight; and what was worse, on a casual view Saint George
himself might be mistaken for his deadly enemy, the Saracen. The guisers
themselves, though inwardly regretting this confusion of persons, could
not afford to offend those by whose assistance they so largely profited,
and the innovations were allowed to stand.

There was, it is true, a limit to this tendency to uniformity. The
Leech or Doctor preserved his character intact--his darker habiliments,
peculiar hat, and the bottle of physic slung under his arm, could never
be mistaken. And the same might be said of the conventional figure of
Father Christmas, with his gigantic club, an older man, who accompanied
the band as general protector in long night journeys from parish to
parish, and was bearer of the purse.

Seven o'clock, the hour of the rehearsal, came round, and in a short
time Eustacia could hear voices in the fuelhouse. To dissipate in some
trifling measure her abiding sense of the murkiness of human life she
went to the "linhay" or lean-to shed, which formed the root-store of
their dwelling and abutted on the fuelhouse. Here was a small rough hole
in the mud wall, originally made for pigeons, through which the interior
of the next shed could be viewed. A light came from it now; and Eustacia
stepped upon a stool to look in upon the scene.

On a ledge in the fuelhouse stood three tall rushlights and by the
light of them seven or eight lads were marching about, haranguing, and
confusing each other, in endeavours to perfect themselves in the play.
Humphrey and Sam, the furze-and turf-cutters, were there looking on, so
also was Timothy Fairway, who leant against the wall and prompted
the boys from memory, interspersing among the set words remarks and
anecdotes of the superior days when he and others were the Egdon
mummers-elect that these lads were now.

"Well, ye be as well up to it as ever ye will be," he said. "Not that
such mumming would have passed in our time. Harry as the Saracen should
strut a bit more, and John needn't holler his inside out. Beyond that
perhaps you'll do. Have you got all your clothes ready?"

"We shall by Monday."

"Your first outing will be Monday night, I suppose?"

"Yes. At Mrs. Yeobright's."

"Oh, Mrs. Yeobright's. What makes her want to see ye? I should think a
middle-aged woman was tired of mumming."

"She's got up a bit of a party, because 'tis the first Christmas that
her son Clym has been home for a long time."

"To be sure, to be sure--her party! I am going myself. I almost forgot
it, upon my life."

Eustacia's face flagged. There was to be a party at the Yeobrights';
she, naturally, had nothing to do with it. She was a stranger to all
such local gatherings, and had always held them as scarcely appertaining
to her sphere. But had she been going, what an opportunity would have
been afforded her of seeing the man whose influence was penetrating her
like summer sun! To increase that influence was coveted excitement; to
cast it off might be to regain serenity; to leave it as it stood was
tantalizing.

The lads and men prepared to leave the premises, and Eustacia returned
to her fireside. She was immersed in thought, but not for long. In a
few minutes the lad Charley, who had come to ask permission to use the
place, returned with the key to the kitchen. Eustacia heard him, and
opening the door into the passage said, "Charley, come here."

The lad was surprised. He entered the front room not without blushing;
for he, like many, had felt the power of this girl's face and form.

She pointed to a seat by the fire, and entered the other side of the
chimney-corner herself. It could be seen in her face that whatever
motive she might have had in asking the youth indoors would soon appear.

"Which part do you play, Charley--the Turkish Knight, do you not?"
inquired the beauty, looking across the smoke of the fire to him on the
other side.

"Yes, miss, the Turkish Knight," he replied diffidently.

"Is yours a long part?"

"Nine speeches, about."

"Can you repeat them to me? If so I should like to hear them."

The lad smiled into the glowing turf and began--

     "Here come I, a Turkish Knight,
     Who learnt in Turkish land to fight,"

continuing the discourse throughout the scenes to the concluding
catastrophe of his fall by the hand of Saint George.

Eustacia had occasionally heard the part recited before. When the lad
ended she began, precisely in the same words, and ranted on without
hitch or divergence till she too reached the end. It was the same thing,
yet how different. Like in form, it had the added softness and finish
of a Raffaelle after Perugino, which, while faithfully reproducing the
original subject, entirely distances the original art.

Charley's eyes rounded with surprise. "Well, you be a clever lady!" he
said, in admiration. "I've been three weeks learning mine."

"I have heard it before," she quietly observed. "Now, would you do
anything to please me, Charley?"

"I'd do a good deal, miss."

"Would you let me play your part for one night?"

"Oh, miss! But your woman's gown--you couldn't."

"I can get boy's clothes--at least all that would be wanted besides the
mumming dress. What should I have to give you to lend me your things,
to let me take your place for an hour or two on Monday night, and on no
account to say a word about who or what I am? You would, of course, have
to excuse yourself from playing that night, and to say that somebody--a
cousin of Miss Vye's--would act for you. The other mummers have never
spoken to me in their lives so that it would be safe enough; and if it
were not, I should not mind. Now, what must I give you to agree to this?
Half a crown?"

The youth shook his head

"Five shillings?"

He shook his head again. "Money won't do it," he said, brushing the iron
head of the firedog with the hollow of his hand.

"What will, then, Charley?" said Eustacia in a disappointed tone.

"You know what you forbade me at the Maypoling, miss," murmured the lad,
without looking at her, and still stroking the firedog's head.

"Yes," said Eustacia, with a little more hauteur. "You wanted to join
hands with me in the ring, if I recollect?"

"Half an hour of that, and I'll agree, miss."

Eustacia regarded the youth steadfastly. He was three years younger
than herself, but apparently not backward for his age. "Half an hour of
what?" she said, though she guessed what.

"Holding your hand in mine."

She was silent. "Make it a quarter of an hour," she said

"Yes, Miss Eustacia--I will, if I may kiss it too. A quarter of an hour.
And I'll swear to do the best I can to let you take my place without
anybody knowing. Don't you think somebody might know your tongue, miss?"

"It is possible. But I will put a pebble in my mouth to make is less
likely. Very well; you shall be allowed to have my hand as soon as you
bring the dress and your sword and staff. I don't want you any longer
now."

Charley departed, and Eustacia felt more and more interest in life.
Here was something to do: here was some one to see, and a charmingly
adventurous way to see him. "Ah," she said to herself, "want of an
object to live for--that's all is the matter with me!"

Eustacia's manner was as a rule of a slumberous sort, her passions being
of the massive rather than the vivacious kind. But when aroused she
would make a dash which, just for the time, was not unlike the move of a
naturally lively person.

On the question of recognition she was somewhat indifferent. By the
acting lads themselves she was not likely to be known. With the guests
who might be assembled she was hardly so secure. Yet detection, after
all, would be no such dreadful thing. The fact only could be detected,
her true motive never. It would be instantly set down as the passing
freak of a girl whose ways were already considered singular. That she
was doing for an earnest reason what would most naturally be done in
jest was at any rate a safe secret.


The next evening Eustacia stood punctually at the fuelhouse door,
waiting for the dusk which was to bring Charley with the trappings.
Her grandfather was at home tonight, and she would be unable to ask her
confederate indoors.

He appeared on the dark ridge of heathland, like a fly on a Negro,
bearing the articles with him, and came up breathless with his walk.

"Here are the things," he whispered, placing them upon the threshold.
"And now, Miss Eustacia--"

"The payment. It is quite ready. I am as good as my word."

She leant against the door-post, and gave him her hand. Charley took it
in both his own with a tenderness beyond description, unless it was like
that of a child holding a captured sparrow.

"Why, there's a glove on it!" he said in a deprecating way.

"I have been walking," she observed.

"But, miss!"

"Well--it is hardly fair." She pulled off the glove, and gave him her
bare hand.

They stood together minute after minute, without further speech, each
looking at the blackening scene, and each thinking his and her own
thoughts.

"I think I won't use it all up tonight," said Charley devotedly, when
six or eight minutes had been passed by him caressing her hand. "May I
have the other few minutes another time?"

"As you like," said she without the least emotion. "But it must be over
in a week. Now, there is only one thing I want you to do--to wait while
I put on the dress, and then to see if I do my part properly. But let me
look first indoors."

She vanished for a minute or two, and went in. Her grandfather was
safely asleep in his chair. "Now, then," she said, on returning, "walk
down the garden a little way, and when I am ready I'll call you."

Charley walked and waited, and presently heard a soft whistle. He
returned to the fuelhouse door.

"Did you whistle, Miss Vye?"

"Yes; come in," reached him in Eustacia's voice from a back quarter.
"I must not strike a light till the door is shut, or it may be seen
shining. Push your hat into the hole through to the wash-house, if you
can feel your way across."

Charley did as commanded, and she struck the light revealing herself
to be changed in sex, brilliant in colours, and armed from top to toe.
Perhaps she quailed a little under Charley's vigorous gaze, but whether
any shyness at her male attire appeared upon her countenance could not
be seen by reason of the strips of ribbon which used to cover the face
in mumming costumes, representing the barred visor of the mediaeval
helmet.

"It fits pretty well," she said, looking down at the white overalls,
"except that the tunic, or whatever you call it, is long in the sleeve.
The bottom of the overalls I can turn up inside. Now pay attention."

Eustacia then proceeded in her delivery, striking the sword against the
staff or lance at the minatory phrases, in the orthodox mumming
manner, and strutting up and down. Charley seasoned his admiration with
criticism of the gentlest kind, for the touch of Eustacia's hand yet
remained with him.

"And now for your excuse to the others," she said. "Where do you meet
before you go to Mrs. Yeobright's?"

"We thought of meeting here, miss, if you have nothing to say against
it. At eight o'clock, so as to get there by nine."

"Yes. Well, you of course must not appear. I will march in about five
minutes late, ready-dressed, and tell them that you can't come. I have
decided that the best plan will be for you to be sent somewhere by me,
to make a real thing of the excuse. Our two heath-croppers are in the
habit of straying into the meads, and tomorrow evening you can go and
see if they are gone there. I'll manage the rest. Now you may leave me."

"Yes, miss. But I think I'll have one minute more of what I am owed, if
you don't mind."

Eustacia gave him her hand as before.

"One minute," she said, and counted on till she reached seven or eight
minutes. Hand and person she then withdrew to a distance of several
feet, and recovered some of her old dignity. The contract completed, she
raised between them a barrier impenetrable as a wall.

"There, 'tis all gone; and I didn't mean quite all," he said, with a
sigh.

"You had good measure," said she, turning away.

"Yes, miss. Well, 'tis over, and now I'll get home-along."


</CHAPTER>

 It's December 23rd and Eustacia is home alone. We learn that in most small towns the local church becomes a social hotspot during the holiday season since everyone decides to go for once. But this isn't the case in Egdon Heath. Everyone is so spread out and isolated that gatherings at the local parish aren't the norm. People usually celebrate the holidays at their own homes, with friends and family. So Eustacia sits home alone and stares out the window. She has some items on the windowsill: an hourglass, two urns, and two cactuses. Some men come to the door and ask to use the their fuel-house for rehearsals for a Christmas play. Eustacia says whatever. The "mummers" perform the pageant "Saint George" every year, without fail. The play is a Christmas tradition, like the yearly Christmas Story marathon and watching that claymation Rudolph movie for the 800th time. The local boys are the ones who get to perform this annual play, while the local girls design the over-the-top costumes. Eustacia eavesdrops on the mummers. She's pretty nosey. The mummers include Timothy Fairway, Humphrey, and Sam. They gossip about the Yeobrights and talk about the Yeobrights' upcoming Christmas party, where they will perform their play. Eustacia hasn't been invited. Charley, the fellow who asked to use the fuel-house, comes to return the key to Eustacia since rehearsal is over. Eustacia has a plan, though. She invites Charley in and grills him about his role. He's playing the Turkish Knight. She has Charley recite his speeches to her and she memorizes them on the spot. Nice job, Eustacia. Charley is super impressed and wants to call Mensa. So Eustacia strikes up a bargain. She tells Charley that she'll pay him in return for letting her take over his role, secretly, the night of the Yeobrights' Christmas party. But Charley doesn't want money - he wants to hold Eustacia's hand for half an hour. Eustacia rolls her eyes, but agrees. She also negotiates him down to a quarter of an hour. At least he didn't want her underwear, like in Sixteen Candles. Eustacia gets all contemplative and moody after Charley leaves. So, nothing out of the ordinary. The next evening Charley comes over with his costume. Eustacia gives him her hand to hold, but she's wearing a glove. Charley says this is a rip-off, and Eustacia takes off her glove. Charley only holds her hand for about eight minutes and then asks to use the rest of his time up later. Eustacia agrees and goes off to put on her costume. Charley holds her hand again for a bit, but he loses track of time and uses up all his minutes, just like with a GoPhone or something. Eustacia is relieved. She and Charley say good-bye.

