Wessex Tales by Thomas Hardy
page 54 of 302 (17%)
page 54 of 302 (17%)
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No observation being offered by anybody in elucidation of this enigma,
the shepherd's wife once more called for a song. The same obstacles presented themselves as at the former time--one had no voice, another had forgotten the first verse. The stranger at the table, whose soul had now risen to a good working temperature, relieved the difficulty by exclaiming that, to start the company, he would sing himself. Thrusting one thumb into the arm-hole of his waistcoat, he waved the other hand in the air, and, with an extemporizing gaze at the shining sheep-crooks above the mantelpiece, began:- 'O my trade it is the rarest one, Simple shepherds all - My trade is a sight to see; For my customers I tie, and take them up on high, And waft 'em to a far countree!' The room was silent when he had finished the verse--with one exception, that of the man in the chimney-corner, who, at the singer's word, 'Chorus! 'joined him in a deep bass voice of musical relish - 'And waft 'em to a far countree!' Oliver Giles, John Pitcher the dairyman, the parish-clerk, the engaged man of fifty, the row of young women against the wall, seemed lost in thought not of the gayest kind. The shepherd looked meditatively on the ground, the shepherdess gazed keenly at the singer, and with some suspicion; she was doubting whether this stranger were merely singing an old song from recollection, or was composing one there and then for the occasion. All were as perplexed at the obscure revelation as the guests at Belshazzar's Feast, except the man in the chimney-corner, who quietly |
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