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perhaps； would have been on Bessy’s side in the matter of feeling。
But then； you see； they were so very different outside！ You would
have been inclined to box Bessy’s ears； and you would have longed
to kiss Hetty。
Bessy had been tempted to run the arduous race； partly from
mere hedonish gaiety； partly because of the prize。 Some one had
said there were to be cloaks and other nice clothes for prizes； and
she approached the marquee； fanning herself with her
handkerchief； but with exultation sparkling in her round eyes。
“Here is the prize for the first sack…race；” said Miss Lydia；
taking a large parcel from the table where the prizes were laid and
giving it to Mrs。 Irwine before Bessy came up； “an excellent
grogram gown and a piece of flannel。”
“You didn’t think the winner was to be so young； I suppose；
Aunt？” said Arthur。 “Couldn’t you find something else for this girl；
and save that grim…looking gown for one of the older women？”
“I have bought nothing but what is useful and substantial；” said
Miss Lydia； adjusting her own lace； “I should not think of
encouraging a love of finery in young women of that class。 I have a
scarlet cloak； but that is for the old woman who wins。”
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This speech of Miss Lydia’s produced rather a mocking
expression in Mrs。 Irwine’s face as she looked at Arthur； while
Bessy came up and dropped a series of curtsies。
“This is Bessy Cranage； mother；” said Mr。 Irwine； kindly；
“Chad Cranage’s daughter。 You remember Chad Cranage； the
blacksmith？”
“Yes； to be sure；” said Mrs。 Irwine。 “Well； Bessy； here is your
prize—excellent warm things for winter。 I’m sure you have had
hard work to win them this warm day。”
Bessy’s lip fell as she saw the ugly； heavy gown—which felt so
hot and disagreeable too； on this July day； and was such a great
ugly thing to carry。 She dropped her curtsies again； without
looking up； and with a growing tremulousness about the corners
of her mouth； and then turned away。
“Poor girl；” said Arthur； “I think she’s disappointed。 I wish it
had been something more to her taste。”
“She’s a bold…looking young person；” observed Miss Lydia。
“Not at all one I should like to encourage。”
Arthur silently resolved that he would make Bessy a present of
money before the day was over； that she might buy something
more to her mind； but she； not aware of the consolation in store
for her； turned out of the open space； where she was visible from
the marquee； and throwing down the odious bundle under a tree；
began to cry—very much tittered at the while by the small boys。 In
this situation she was descried by her discreet matronly cousin；
who lost no time in coming up； having just given the baby into her
husband’s charge。
“What’s the matter wi’ ye？” said Bess the matron； taking up the
bundle and examining it。 “Ye’n sweltered yoursen； I reckon；
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running that fool’s race。 An’ here； they’n gi’en you lots o’ good
grogram and flannel； as should ha’ been gi’en by good rights to
them as had the sense to keep away from such foolery。 Ye might
spare me a bit o’ this grogram to make clothes for the lad—ye war
ne’er ill…natured； Bess； I ne’er said that on ye。”
“Ye may take it all； for what I care；” said Bess the maiden； with
a pettish movement； beginning to wipe away her tears and recover
herself。
“Well； I could do wi’t； if so be ye want to get rid on ’t；” said the
disinterested cousin； walking quickly away with the bundle； lest
Chad’s Bess should change her mind。
But that bonny…cheeked lass was blessed with an elasticity of
spirits that secured her from any rankling grief； and by the time
the grand climax of the donkey…race came on； her disappointment
was entirely lost in the delightful excitement of attempting to
stimulate the last donkey by hisses； while the boys applied the
argument of sticks。 But the strength of the donkey mind lies in
adopting a course inversely as the arguments urged； which； well
considered； requires as great a mental force as the direct
sequence； and the present donkey proved the first…rate order of
his intelligence by coming to a dead standstill just when the blows
were thickest。 Great was the shouting of the crowd； radiant the
grinning of Bill Downes the stone…sawyer and the fortunate rider
of this superior beast； which stood calm and stiff…legged in the
midst of its triumph。
Arthur himself had provided the prizes for the men； and Bill
was made happy with a splendid pocket…knife； supplied with
blades and gimlets enough to make a man at home on a desert
island。 He had hardly returned from the marquee with the prize in
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his hand； when it began to be understood that Wiry Ben proposed
to amuse the company； before the gentry went to dinner； with an
impromptu and gratuitous performance—namely； a hornpipe； the
main idea of which was doubtless borrowed； but this was to be
developed by the dancer in so peculiar and complex a manner that
no one could deny him the praise of originality。 Wiry Ben’s pride
in his dancing—an accomplishment productive of great effect at
the yearly Wake—had needed only slightly elevating by an extra
quantity of good ale to convince him that the gentry would be very
much struck with his performance of his hornpipe； and he had
been decidedly encouraged in this idea by Joshua Rann； who
observed that it was nothing but right to do something to please
the young squire； in return for what he had done for them。 You
will be the less surprised at this opinion in so grave a personage
when you learn that Ben had requested Mr。 Rann to accompany
him on the fiddle； and Joshua felt quite sure that though there
might not be much in the dancing； the music would make up for it。
Adam Bede； who was present in one of the large marquees； where
the plan was being discussed； told Ben he had better not make a
fool of himself—a remark which at once fixed Ben’s
determination： he was not going to let anything alone because
Adam Bede turned up his nose at it。
“What’s this； what’s this？” said old Mr。 Donnithorne。 “Is it
something you’ve arranged； Arthur？ Here’s the clerk coming with
his fiddle； and a smart fellow with a nosegay in his button…hole。”
“No；” said Arthur； “I know nothing about it。 By Jove； he’s going
to dance！ It’s one of the carpenters—I forget his name at this
moment。”
“It’s Ben Cranage—Wiry Ben； they call him；” said Mr。 Irwine；
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“rather a loose fish； I think。 Anne； my dear； I see that fiddle…
scraping is too much for you： you’re getting tired。 Let me take you
in now； that you may rest till dinner。”
Miss Anne rose assentingly； and the good brother took her
away； while Joshua’s preliminary scrapings burst into the “White
Cockade；” from which he intended to pass to a variety of tunes； by
a series of transitions which his good ear really taught him to
execute with some skill。 It would have been an exaspe