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VIII. The Malthouse—The Chat—News

           "Hecontinued,"I’dasliefasnotbeabletoblowintoafluteaswellasthat."

           "He’sacleverman,and’tisatruecomfortforustohavesuchashepherd,"murmuredJosephPoorgrass,inasoftcadence."Weoughttofeelfullo’thanksgivingthathe’snotaplayerofba’dysongsinsteadofthesemerrytunes;for’twouldhavebeenjustaseasyforGodtohavemadetheshepherdalooselowman—amanofiniquity,sotospeakit—aswhatheis.Yes,forourwives’anddaughters’sakesweshouldfeelrealthanksgiving."

           "True,true,—realthanksgiving!"dashedinMarkClarkconclusively,notfeelingittobeofanyconsequencetohisopinionthathehadonlyheardaboutawordandthree-quartersofwhatJosephhadsaid.

           "Yes,"addedJoseph,beginningtofeellikeamanintheBible;"forevildothrivesointhesetimesthatyemaybeasmuchdeceivedinthecleanestshavedandwhitestshirtedmanasintheraggedesttrampupontheturnpike,ifImaytermitso."

           "Ay,Icanmindyerfacenow,shepherd,"saidHeneryFray,criticisingGabrielwithmistyeyesasheentereduponhissecondtune."Yes—nowIsee’eeblowingintothefluteIknow’eetobethesamemanIseeplayatCasterbridge,foryermouthwerescrimpedupandyereyesa-staringoutlikeastrangledman’s—justastheybenow."

           "’Tisapitythatplayingthefluteshouldmakeamanlooksuchascarecrow,"observedMr.

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