Far from the Madding Crowd

"True." said Jacob Smallbury, deepening his thoughts to a profounder view of the subject. "'Tis a thought to look at, that ye might have been worse; but even as you be, 'tis a very bad affliction for 'ee, Joseph. For ye see, shepherd, though 'tis very well for a woman, dang it all, 'tis awkward for a man like him, poor feller?"

"'Tis -- 'tis." said Gabriel, recovering from a meditation. "Yes, very awkward for the man."

"Ay, and he's very timid, too." observed Jan Coggan.

"Once he had been working late at Yalbury Bottom, and had had a drap of drink, and lost his way as he was coming home-along through Yalbury Wood, didn't ye, Master Poorgrass?"

"No, no, no; not that story!" expostulated the modest man, forcing a laugh to bury his concern.

"-- -- And so 'a lost himself quite." continued Mr Coggan, with an impassive face, implying that a true narrative, like time and tide, must run its course and would respect no man. "And as he was coming along in the middle of the night, much afeared, and not able to find his way out of the trees nohow, 'a cried out, "Man-a-lost! man-a-lost!" A owl in a tree happened to be crying "Whoo-whoo-whoo!" as owls do, you know, shepherd" (Gabriel nodded), " and Joseph, all in a tremble, said, " Joseph Poorgrass, of Weatherbury, sir!"

"No, no, now -- that's too much!" said the timid man, becoming a man of brazen courage all of a sudden.

"I didn't say sir. I'll tike my oath I didn't say " Joseph Poorgrass o' Weatherbury, sir." No, no; what's right is right, and I never said sir to the bird, knowing very well that no man of a gentleman's rank would be hollering there at that time o' night." Joseph Poorgrass of Weatherbury," -- that's every word I said, and I shouldn't ha' said that if 't hadn't been for Keeper Day's metheglin.... There, 'twas a merciful thing it ended where it did."

The question of which was right being tacitly waived by the company, Jan went on meditatively: -"And he's the fearfullest man, bain't ye, Joseph?

Ay, another time ye were lost by Lambing-Down Gate, weren't ye, Joseph?"

"I was." replied Poorgrass, as if there were some conditions too serious even for modesty to remember itself under, this being one.

"Yes; that were the middle of the night, too. The gate would not open, try how he would, and knowing there was the Devil's hand in it, he kneeled down."

"Ay." said Joseph, acquiring confidence from the warmth of the fire, the cider, and a perception of the narrative capabilities of the experience alluded to.