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VIII. The Malthouse—The Chat—News

           Heworebreechesandthelaced-upshoescalledankle-jacks;hekepthiseyesfixeduponthefire.

           Gabriel’snosewasgreetedbyanatmosphereladenwiththesweetsmellofnewmalt.Theconversation(whichseemedtohavebeenconcerningtheoriginofthefire)immediatelyceased,andeveryoneocularlycriticisedhimtothedegreeexpressedbycontractingthefleshoftheirforeheadsandlookingathimwithnarrowedeyelids,asifhehadbeenalighttoostrongfortheirsight.Severalexclaimedmeditatively,afterthisoperationhadbeencompleted:

           "Oh,’tisthenewshepherd,’ab’lieve."

           "Wethoughtweheardahandpawingaboutthedoorforthebobbin,butweren’tsure’twerenotadeadleafblowedacross,"saidanother."Comein,shepherd;sureyebewelcome,thoughwedon’tknowyername."

           "GabrielOak,that’smyname,neighbours."

           Theancientmaltstersittinginthemidstturnedatthishisturningbeingastheturningofarustycrane.

           "That’sneverGableOak’sgrandsonoveratNorcombenever!"hesaid,asaformulaexpressiveofsurprise,whichnobodywassupposedforamomenttotakeliterally.

           "MyfatherandmygrandfatherwereoldmenofthenameofGabriel,"saidtheshepherd,placidly.

           "ThoughtIknowedtheman’sfaceasIseedhimontherick!thoughtIdid!Andwherebeyetradingo’ttonow,shepherd?"

           "I’mthinkingofbidinghere,"saidMr.Oak.

           "Knowedyergrandfatherforyearsandyears!"continuedthemaltster,thewordscomingforthoftheirownaccordasifthemomentumpreviouslyimpartedhadbeensufficient.

           "Ahanddidyou!"

           "Knowedyergrandmother.

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