"Ay--that I do--hee-hee, such doggery as there was in them ancient days,
to be sure! Ah, the miles I used to walk then; and now I can hardly step
over a furrow!"

Their reminiscences were cut short by the appearance of the reunited
pair--Henchard looking round upon the idlers with that ambiguous gaze
of his, which at one moment seemed to mean satisfaction, and at another
fiery disdain.

"Well--there's a difference between 'em, though he do call himself a
teetotaller," said Nance Mockridge. "She'll wish her cake dough afore
she's done of him. There's a blue-beardy look about 'en; and 'twill out
in time."

"Stuff--he's well enough! Some folk want their luck buttered. If I had a
choice as wide as the ocean sea I wouldn't wish for a better man. A poor
twanking woman like her--'tis a godsend for her, and hardly a pair of
jumps or night-rail to her name."

The plain little brougham drove off in the mist, and the idlers
dispersed. "Well, we hardly know how to look at things in these times!"
said Solomon. "There was a man dropped down dead yesterday, not so very
many miles from here; and what wi' that, and this moist weather, 'tis
scarce worth one's while to begin any work o' consequence to-day. I'm in
such a low key with drinking nothing but small table ninepenny this
last week or two that I shall call and warm up at the Mar'ners as I pass
along."

"I don't know but that I may as well go with 'ee, Solomon," said