Adam Bede HTML version

2. The Preaching
about a quarter to seven there was an unusual appearance of excitement in the
village of Hayslope, and through the whole length of its little street, from the
Donnithorne Arms to the churchyard gate, the inhabitants had evidently been
drawn out of their houses by something more than the pleasure of lounging in the
evening sunshine. The Donnithorne Arms stood at the entrance of the village,
and a small farmyard and stackyard which flanked it, indicating that there was a
pretty take of land attached to the inn, gave the traveller a promise of good feed
for himself and his horse, which might well console him for the ignorance in
which the weather-beaten sign left him as to the heraldic bearings of that ancient
family, the Donnithornes. Mr. Casson, the landlord, had been for some time
standing at the door with his hands in his pockets, balancing himself on his heels
and toes and looking towards a piece of unenclosed ground, with a maple in the
middle of it, which he knew to be the destination of certain grave- looking men
and women whom he had observed passing at intervals.
Mr. Casson's person was by no means of that common type which can be
allowed to pass without description. On a front view it appeared to consist
principally of two spheres, bearing about the same relation to each other as the
earth and the moon: that is to say, the lower sphere might be said, at a rough
guess, to be thirteen times larger than the upper which naturally performed the
function of a mere satellite and tributary. But here the resemblance ceased, for
Mr. Casson's head was not at all a melancholy-looking satellite nor was it a
"spotty globe," as Milton has irreverently called the moon; on the contrary, no
head and face could look more sleek and healthy, and its expression-- which was
chiefly confined to a pair of round and ruddy cheeks, the slight knot and
interruptions forming the nose and eyes being scarcely worth mention--was one
of jolly contentment, only tempered by that sense of personal dignity which
usually made itself felt in his attitude and bearing. This sense of dignity could
hardly be considered excessive in a man who had been butler to "the family" for
fifteen years, and who, in his present high position, was necessarily very much in
contact with his inferiors. How to reconcile his dignity with the satisfaction of his
curiosity by walking towards the Green was the problem that Mr. Casson had
been revolving in his mind for the last five minutes; but when he had partly solved
it by taking his hands out of his pockets, and thrusting them into the armholes of
his waistcoat, by throwing his head on one side, and providing himself with an air
of contemptuous indifference to whatever might fall under his notice, his thoughts
were diverted by the approach of the horseman whom we lately saw pausing to
have another look at our friend Adam, and who now pulled up at the door of the
Donnithorne Arms.
"Take off the bridle and give him a drink, ostler," said the traveller to the lad in a
smock-frock, who had come out of the yard at the sound of the horse's hoofs.