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"
Oh
the
wi
′
-
il
-
lo
′
-
ow
tree
′
will
′
twist
′
,
And
the
wil
′
-
low
′
tre
′
-
ee
wi
′
-
ill
twine
′
.
"
But
the
singer
could
not
be
set
going
again
.
Bob
Coggan
was
sent
home
for
his
ill
manners
,
and
tranquility
was
restored
by
Jacob
Smallbury
,
who
volunteered
a
ballad
as
inclusive
and
interminable
as
that
with
which
the
worthy
toper
old
Silenus
amused
on
a
similar
occasion
the
swains
Chromis
and
Mnasylus
,
and
other
jolly
dogs
of
his
day
.
It
was
still
the
beaming
time
of
evening
,
though
night
was
stealthily
making
itself
visible
low
down
upon
the
ground
,
the
western
lines
of
light
raking
the
earth
without
alighting
upon
it
to
any
extent
,
or
illuminating
the
dead
levels
at
all
.
The
sun
had
crept
round
the
tree
as
a
last
effort
before
death
,
and
then
began
to
sink
,
the
shearers
’
lower
parts
becoming
steeped
in
embrowning
twilight
,
whilst
their
heads
and
shoulders
were
still
enjoying
day
,
touched
with
a
yellow
of
self
-
sustained
brilliancy
that
seemed
inherent
rather
than
acquired
.
The
sun
went
down
in
an
ochreous
mist
;
but
they
sat
,
and
talked
on
,
and
grew
as
merry
as
the
gods
in
Homer
’
s
heaven
.
Bathsheba
still
remained
enthroned
inside
the
window
,
and
occupied
herself
in
knitting
,
from
which
she
sometimes
looked
up
to
view
the
fading
scene
outside
.
The
slow
twilight
expanded
and
enveloped
them
completely
before
the
signs
of
moving
were
shown
.
Gabriel
suddenly
missed
Farmer
Boldwood
from
his
place
at
the
bottom
of
the
table
.
How
long
he
had
been
gone
Oak
did
not
know
;
but
he
had
apparently
withdrawn
into
the
encircling
dusk
.
Whilst
he
was
thinking
of
this
,
Liddy
brought
candles
into
the
back
part
of
the
room
overlooking
the
shearers
,
and
their
lively
new
flames
shone
down
the
table
and
over
the
men
,
and
dispersed
among
the
green
shadows
behind
.
Bathsheba
’
s
form
,
still
in
its
original
position
,
was
now
again
distinct
between
their
eyes
and
the
light
,
which
revealed
that
Boldwood
had
gone
inside
the
room
,
and
was
sitting
near
her
.
Next
came
the
question
of
the
evening
.
Would
Miss
Everdene
sing
to
them
the
song
she
always
sang
so
charmingly
—
"
The
Banks
of
Allan
Water
"
—
before
they
went
home
?
After
a
moment
’
s
consideration
Bathsheba
assented
,
beckoning
to
Gabriel
,
who
hastened
up
into
the
coveted
atmosphere
.
"
Have
you
brought
your
flute
?
"
she
whispered
.
