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distance； to contemplate his own thatching walking about to get
each rick from the proper point of view。 As he curtsied along； with
his eyes upturned to the straw knobs imitative of golden globes at
the summits of the beehive ricks； which indeed were gold of the
best sort； you might have imagined him to be engaged in some
pagan act of adoration。 Kester was an old bachelor and reputed to
have stockings full of coin； concerning which his master cracked a
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joke with him every pay…night： not a new unseasoned joke； but a
good old one； that had been tried many times before and had worn
well。 “Th’ young measter’s a merry mon；” Kester frequently
remarked； for having begun his career by frightening away the
crows under the last Martin Poyser but one； he could never cease
to account the reigning Martin a young master。 I am not ashamed
of commemorating old Kester。 You and I are indebted to the hard
hands of such men—hands that have long ago mingled with the
soil they tilled so faithfully； thriftily making the best they could of
the earth’s fruits； and receiving the smallest share as their own
wages。
Then； at the end of the table； opposite his master； there was
Alick； the shepherd and head…man； with the ruddy face and broad
shoulders； not on the best terms with old Kester； indeed； their
intercourse was confined to an occasional snarl； for though they
probably differed little concerning hedging and ditching and the
treatment of ewes； there was a profound difference of opinion
between them as to their own respective merits。 When Tityrus and
Meliboeus happen to be on the same farm； they are not
sentimentally polite to each other。 Alick； indeed； was not by any
means a honeyed man。 His speech had usually something of a
snarl in it； and his broad…shouldered aspect something of the bull…
dog expression—“Don’t you meddle with me； and I won’t meddle
with you。” But he was honest even to the splitting of an oat…grain
rather than he would take beyond his acknowledged share； and as
“close…fisted” with his master’s property as if it had been his
own—throwing very small handfuls of damaged barley to the
chickens； because a large handful affected his imagination
painfully with a sense of profusion。 Good…tempered Tim； the
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Adam Bede 681
waggoner； who loved his horses； had his grudge against Alick in
the matter of corn。 They rarely spoke to each other； and never
looked at each other； even over their dish of cold potatoes； but
then； as this was their usual mode of behaviour towards all
mankind； it would be an unsafe conclusion that they had more
than transient fits of unfriendliness。 The bucolic character at
Hayslope； you perceive； was not of that entirely genial； merry；
broad…grinning sort； apparently observed in most districts visited
by artists。 The mild radiance of a smile was a rare sight on a field…
labourer’s face； and there was seldom any gradation between
bovine gravity and a laugh。 Nor was every labourer so honest as
our friend Alick。 At this very table； among Mr。 Poyser’s men； there
is that big Ben Tholoway； a very powerful thresher； but detected
more than once in carrying away his master’s corn in his
pockets—an action which； as Ben was not a philosopher； could
hardly be ascribed to absence of mind。 However； his master had
forgiven him； and continued to employ him； for the Tholoways had
lived on the Common time out of mind； and had always worked for
the Poysers。 And on the whole； I daresay； society was not much
the worse because Ben had not six months of it at the treadmill；
for his views of depredation were narrow； and the House of
Correction might have enlarged them。 As it was； Ben ate his roast
beef to…night with a serene sense of having stolen nothing more
than a few peas and beans as seed for his garden since the last
harvest supper； and felt warranted in thinking that Alick’s
suspicious eye； for ever upon him； was an injury to his innocence。
But now the roast beef was finished and the cloth was drawn；
leaving a fair large deal table for the bright drinking…cans； and the
foaming brown jugs； and the bright brass candlesticks； pleasant to
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behold。 now； the great ceremony of the evening was to begin—the
harvest…song； in which every man must join。 He might be in tune；
if he liked to be singular； but he must not sit with closed lips。 The
movement was obliged to be in triple time； the rest was ad libitum。
As to the origin of this song—whether it came in its actual state
from the brain of a single rhapsodist； or was gradually perfected
by a school or succession of rhapsodists； I am ignorant。 There is a
stamp of unity； of individual genius upon it； which inclines me to
the former hypothesis； though I am not blind to the consideration
that this unity may rather have arisen from that consensus of
many minds which was a condition of primitive thought； foreign to
our modern consciousness。 Some will perhaps think that they
detect in the first quatrain an indication of a lost line； which later
rhapsodists； failing in imaginative vigour； have supplied by the
feeble device of iteration。 Others； however； may rather maintain
that this very iteration is an original felicity； to which none but the
most prosaic minds can be insensible。
The ceremony connected with the song was a drinking
ceremony。 （That is perhaps a painful fact； but then； you know； we
cannot reform our forefathers。） During the first and second
quatrain； sung decidedlyforte ； no can was filled。
“Here’s a health unto our master；
The founder of the feast；
Here’s a health unto our master
And to our mistress！
And may his doings prosper；
Whate’er he takes in hand；
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For we are all his servants；
And are at his command。
But now； immediately before the third quatrain or chorus； sung
fortissimo ； with emphatic raps of the table； which gave the effect of
cymbals and drum together； Alick’s can was filled； and he was
bound to empty it before the chorus ceased。
“Then drink； boys； drink！
And see ye do not spill；
For if ye do； ye shall drink two；
For ’tis our master’s will。
When Alick had gone successfully through this test of steady…
handed manliness； it was the turn of old Kester； at his right
hand—and so on； till every man had drunk his initiatory pint
under the stimulus of the chorus。 Tom Saft—the rogue—took care
to spill a little by accident； but Mrs。 Poyser （too officiously； Tom
thought） interfered to prevent the exaction of the penalty。
To any listener outside the door it would have been the reverse
of obvious why the “Drink； boys； drink！” should have such an
immediate and often…repeated encore； but once entered； he would
have seen that all faces were at present sober； and most of them
serious—it was t