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Even
Mr
Clare
began
to
feel
tragical
at
the
dairyman
’
s
desperation
.
“
Conjuror
Fall
,
t
’
other
side
of
Casterbridge
,
that
they
used
to
call
‘
Wide
-
O
’
,
was
a
very
good
man
when
I
was
a
boy
,
”
said
Jonathan
Kail
.
“
But
he
’
s
rotten
as
touchwood
by
now
.
”
“
My
grandfather
used
to
go
to
Conjuror
Mynterne
,
out
at
Owlscombe
,
and
a
clever
man
a
’
were
,
so
I
’
ve
heard
grandf
’
er
say
,
”
continued
Mr
Crick
.
“
But
there
’
s
no
such
genuine
folk
about
nowadays
!
”
Mrs
Crick
’
s
mind
kept
nearer
to
the
matter
in
hand
.
“
Perhaps
somebody
in
the
house
is
in
love
,
”
she
said
tentatively
.
“
I
’
ve
heard
tell
in
my
younger
days
that
that
will
cause
it
.
Why
,
Crick
—
that
maid
we
had
years
ago
,
do
ye
mind
,
and
how
the
butter
didn
’
t
come
then
—
”
“
Ah
yes
,
yes
!
—
but
that
isn
’
t
the
rights
o
’
t
.
It
had
nothing
to
do
with
the
love
-
making
.
I
can
mind
all
about
it
—
’
twas
the
damage
to
the
churn
.
”
He
turned
to
Clare
.
“
Jack
Dollop
,
a
‘
hore
’
s
-
bird
of
a
fellow
we
had
here
as
milker
at
one
time
,
sir
,
courted
a
young
woman
over
at
Mellstock
,
and
deceived
her
as
he
had
deceived
many
afore
.
But
he
had
another
sort
o
’
woman
to
reckon
wi
’
this
time
,
and
it
was
not
the
girl
herself
.
One
Holy
Thursday
of
all
days
in
the
almanack
,
we
was
here
as
we
mid
be
now
,
only
there
was
no
churning
in
hand
,
when
we
zid
the
girl
’
s
mother
coming
up
to
the
door
,
wi
’
a
great
brass
-
mounted
umbrella
in
her
hand
that
would
ha
’
felled
an
ox
,
and
saying
‘
Do
Jack
Dollop
work
here
?
—
because
I
want
him
!
I
have
a
big
bone
to
pick
with
he
,
I
can
assure
‘
n
!
’
And
some
way
behind
her
mother
walked
Jack
’
s
young
woman
,
crying
bitterly
into
her
handkercher
.
‘
O
Lard
,
here
’
s
a
time
!
’
said
Jack
,
looking
out
o
’
winder
at
’
em
.
‘
She
’
ll
murder
me
!
Where
shall
I
get
—
where
shall
I
—
?
Don
’
t
tell
her
where
I
be
!
’
And
with
that
he
scrambled
into
the
churn
through
the
trap
-
door
,
and
shut
himself
inside
,
just
as
the
young
woman
’
s
mother
busted
into
the
milk
-
house
.
‘
The
villain
—
where
is
he
?
’
says
she
,
‘
I
’
ll
claw
his
face
for
’
n
,
let
me
only
catch
him
!
’
Well
,
she
hunted
about
everywhere
,
ballyragging
Jack
by
side
and
by
seam
,
Jack
lying
a
’
most
stifled
inside
the
churn
,
and
the
poor
maid
—
or
young
woman
rather
—
standing
at
the
door
crying
her
eyes
out
.
I
shall
never
forget
it
,
never
!
‘
Twould
have
melted
a
marble
stone
!
But
she
couldn
’
t
find
him
nowhere
at
all
.
”
