adam bede(亚当[1].比德)-第138章
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be made on’t。 It’s your dead chicks take the longest hatchin’。
Howiver； I’m not denyin’ the women are foolish： God Almighty
made ’em to match the men。”
“Match！” said Bartle。 “Aye； as vinegar matches one’s teeth。 If a
man says a word； his wife ’ll match it with a contradiction； if he’s a
mind for hot meat； his wife ’ll match it with cold bacon； if he
laughs； she’ll match him with whimpering。 She’s such a match as
the horse…fly is to th’ horse： she’s got the right venom to sting him
with—the right venom to sting him with。”
“Yes；” said Mrs。 Poyser； “I know what the men like—a poor
soft； as ’ud simper at ’em like the picture o’ the sun； whether they
did right or wrong； an’ say thank you for a kick； an’ pretend she
didna know which end she stood uppermost； till her husband told
her。 That’s what a man wants in a wife； mostly； he wants to make
sure o’ one fool as ’ull tell him he’s wise。 But there’s some men can
do wi’out that—they think so much o’ themselves a’ready。 An’
that’s how it is there’s old bachelors。”
“Come； Craig；” said Mr。 Poyser jocosely； “you mun get married
pretty quick； else you’ll be set down for an old bachelor； an’ you
see what the women ’ull think on you。”
“Well；” said Mr。 Craig； willing to conciliate Mrs。 Poyser and
setting a high value on his own compliments； “I like a cleverish
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woman—a woman o’ sperrit—a managing woman。”
“You’re out there； Craig；” said Bartle； dryly； “you’re out there。
You judge o’ your garden…stuff on a better plan than that。 You pick
the things for what they can excel in—for what they can excel in。
You don’t value your peas for their roots； or your carrots for their
flowers。 Now； that’s the way you should choose women。 Their
cleverness ’ll never come to much—never come to much—but they
make excellent simpletons； ripe and strong…flavoured。”
“What dost say to that？” said Mr。 Poyser； throwing himself back
and looking merrily at his wife。
“Say！” answered Mrs。 Poyser； with dangerous fire kindling in
her eye。 “Why； I say as some folks’ tongues are like the clocks as
run on strikin’； not to tell you the time o’ the day； but because
there’s summat wrong i’ their own inside 。 。 。 ”
Mrs。 Poyser would probably have brought her rejoinder to a
further climax； if every one’s attention had not at this moment
been called to the other end of the table； where the lyricism； which
had at first only manifested itself by David’s sotto voce
performance of “My love’s a rose without a thorn；” had gradually
assumed a rather deafening and complex character。 Tim； thinking
slightly of David’s vocalisation； was impelled to supersede that
feeble buzz by a spirited commencement of “Three Merry
Mowers；” but David was not to be put down so easily； and showed
himself capable of a copious crescendo； which was rendering it
doubtful whether the rose would not predominate over the
mowers； when old Kester； with an entirely unmoved and
immovable aspect； suddenly set up a quavering treble—as if he
had been an alarum； and the time was come for him to go off。
The company at Alick’s end of the table took this form of vocal
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entertainment very much as a matter of course； being free from
musical prejudices； but Bartle Massey laid down his pipe and put
his fingers in his ears； and Adam； who had been longing to go ever
since he had heard Dinah was not in the house； rose and said he
must bid good…night。
“I’ll go with you； lad；” said Bartle； “I’ll go with you before my
ears are split。”
“I’ll go round by the Common and see you home； if you like； Mr。
Massey；” said Adam。
“Aye； aye！” said Bartle； “then we can have a bit o’ talk together。
I never get hold of you now。”
“Eh！ It’s a pity but you’d sit it out；” said Martin Poyser。 “They’ll
all go soon； for th’ missis niver lets ’em stay past ten。”
But Adam was resolute； so the good…nights were said； and the
two friends turned out on their starlight walk together。
“There’s that poor fool； Vixen； whimpering for me at home；”
said Bartle。 “I can never bring her here with me for fear she
should be struck with Mrs。 Poyser’s eye； and the poor bitch might
go limping for ever after。”
“I’ve never any need to drive Gyp back；” said Adam； laughing。
“He always turns back of his own head when he finds out I’m
coming here。”
“Aye； aye；” said Bartle。 “A terrible woman！—made of needles；
made of needles。 But I stick to Martin—I shall always stick to
Martin。 And he likes the needles； God help him！ He’s a cushion
made on purpose for ’em。”
“But she’s a downright good…natur’d woman； for all that；” said
Adam； “and as true as the daylight。 She’s a bit cross wi’ the dogs
when they offer to come in th’ house； but if they depended on her；
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she’d take care and have ’em well fed。 If her tongue’s keen； her
heart’s tender： I’ve seen that in times o’ trouble。 She’s one o’ those
women as are better than their word。”
“Well； well；” said Bartle； “I don’t say th’ apple isn’t sound at the
core； but it sets my teeth on edge—it sets my teeth on edge。”
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Chapter LIV
The Meeting on the Hill
dam understood Dinah’s haste to go away； and drew hope
Arather than discouragement from it。 She was fearful lest
the strength of her feeling towards him should hinder her
from waiting and listening faithfully for the ultimate guiding voice
from within。
“I wish I’d asked her to write to me； though；” he thought。 “And
yet even that might disturb her a bit； perhaps。 She wants to be
quite quiet in her old way for a while。 And I’ve no right to be
impatient and interrupting her with my wishes。 She’s told me
what her mind is； and she’s not a woman to say one thing and
mean another。 I’ll wait patiently。”
That was Adam’s wise resolution； and it throve excellently for
the first two or three weeks on the nourishment it got from the
remembrance of Dinah’s confession that Sunday afternoon。 There
is a wonderful amount of sustenance in the first few words of love。
But towards the middle of October the resolution began to
dwindle perceptibly； and showed dangerous symptoms of
exhaustion。 The weeks were unusually long： Dinah must surely
have had more than enough time to make up her mind。 Let a
woman say what she will after she has once told a man that she
loves him； he is a little too flushed and exalted with that first
draught she offers him to care much about the taste of the second。
He treads the earth with a very elastic step as he walks away from
her； and makes light of all difficulties。 But that sort of glow dies
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out： memory gets sadly diluted with time； and is not strong enough
to revive us。 Adam was no longer so confident as he had been。 He
began to fear that perhaps Dinah’s old life would have too strong a
grasp upon her for any new feeling to triumph。 If she had not felt
this； she would surely have written to him to give him some
comfort； but it appeared that she held it right to discourage him。
As Adam’s confidence waned； his patience waned with it； and he
thought he must write himself。 He must ask Dinah not to leave
him in painful doubt longer than was needful。 He sat up late one
night to write her a letter； but the next morning he burnt it； afraid
of its effect。 It would be worse to have a discouraging answer by
letter than from her own lips； for her presence reconciled him to
her will。
You perceive how it was： Adam was hungering for the sight of
Dinah； and when that sort of hunger reaches a certain stage； a
lover is likely to still it though he may have to put his future in
pawn。
But what harm could he do by going to Snowfield？ Dinah could
not be displeased with him for it。 She had not forbidden him to go。
She must surely expect that he would go before long。 By the
second Sunday in October this view of the case had become so
clear to Adam that he was already on his way to Snowfield； on
horseback this time； for his hours were precious now； and he had
borrowed Jonathan Burge’s good nag for the journey。
What keen memories went along the road with him！ He had
often been to Oakbourne and back since that first journey to
Snowfield； but beyond Oakbourne the grey stone walls； the broken
country； the meagre trees； seemed to be telling him afresh the
story of that painful past which he knew so well by heart。 But no
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