HIVING THE BEES
THE Weatherbury bees were late in their swarming thisyear. It was in the latter part of June, and the day afterthe interview with Troy in the hayfield, that Bathshebawas standing in her garden, watching a swarm in theair and guessing their probable settling place. Not onlywere they late this year, but unruly. Sometimes through-out a whole season all the swarms would alight on thelowest attainable bough -- such as part of a currant-bushor espalier apple-tree; next year they would, with justthe same unanimity, make straight off to the uppermostmember of some tall, gaunt costard, or quarrenden,and there defy all invaders who did not come armedwith ladders and staves to take them.This was the case at present. Bathsheba's eyes,shaded by one hand, were following the ascendingmultitude against the unexplorable stretch of blue tillthey ultimately halted by one of the unwieldy treesspoken of. A process somewhat analogous to that ofalleged formations of the universe, time and times ago,was observable. The bustling swarm had swept the skyin a scattered and uniform haze, which now thickened toa nebulous centre: this glided on to a bough and grewstill denser, till it formed a solid black spot upon thelight.The men and women being all busily engaged insaving the hay -- even Liddy had left the house for thepurpose of lending a hand -- Bathsheba resolved to hivethe bees herself, if possible. She had dressed the hivewith herbs and honey, fetched a ladder, brush, andcrook, made herself impregnable with armour of leathergloves, straw hat, and large gauze veil -- once green butnow faded to snuff colour -- and ascended a dozen rungsof the ladder. At once she heard, not ten yards off,a voice that was beginning to have a strange power inagitating her.Miss Everdene, let me assist you; you should notattempt such a thing alone.Troy was just opening the garden gate.Bathsheba flung down the brush, crook, and emptyhive, pulled the skirt of her dress tightly round herankles in a tremendous flurry, and as well as she couldslid down the ladder. By the time she reached thebottom Troy was there also, and he stooped to pickup the hive.How fortunate I am to have dropped in at thismoment! exclaimed the sergeant.She found her voice in a minute. What! and willyou shake them in for me? she asked, in what, for adefiant girl, was a faltering way; though, for a timidgirl, it would have seemed a brave way enough.Will I! said Troy. Why, of course I will. Howblooming you are to-day! Troy flung down his caneand put his foot on the ladder to ascend.But you must have on the veil and gloves, or you'llbe stung fearfully!Ah, yes. I must put on the veil and gloves. Willyou kindly show me how to fix them properly?And you must have the broad-brimmed hat, too, foryour cap has no brim to keep the veil off, and they'dreach your face.The broad-brimmed hat, too, by all means.So a whimsical fate ordered that her hat should betaken off -- veil and all attached -- and placed upon hishead, Troy tossing his own into a gooseberry bush.Then the veil had to be tied at its lower edge roundhis collar and the gloves put on him.He looked such an extraordinary object in this guisethat, flurried as she was, she could not avoid laughingoutright. It was the removal of yet another stake fromthe palisade of cold manners which had kept him offBathsheba looked on from the ground whilst he wasbusy sweeping and shaking the bees from the tree,holding up the hive with the other hand for them tofall into. She made use of an unobserved minutewhilst his attention was absorbed in the operation toarrange her plumes a little. He came down holdingthe hive at arm's length, behind which trailed a cloudof bees.Upon my life. said Troy, through the veil, holdingup this hive makes one's arm ache worse than a weekof sword-exercise. When the manoeuvre was completehe approached her. Would you be good enough tountie me and let me out? I am nearly stifled insidethis silk cage.To hide her embarrassment during the unwontedprocess of untying the string about his neck, she said: --I have never seen that you spoke of.What?The sword-exercise.Ah! would you like to? said Troy.Bathsheba hesitated. She had heard wondrousreports from time to time by dwellers in Weatherbury,who had by chance sojourned awhile in Casterbridge,near the barracks, of this strange and glorious perform-ance, *tlie sword-exercise. Men and boys who hadpeeped through chinks or over walls into the barrack-yard returned with accounts of its being the mostflashing affair conceivable; accoutrements and weaponsglistening like stars-here,there,around-yet all by ruleand compass. So she said mildly what she felt strongly.Yes; I should like to see it very much.And so you shall; you shall see me go through it.No! How?Let me consider.Not with a walking-stick -- I don't care to see that.lt must be a real sword.Yes, I know; and I have no sword here; but Ithink I could get one by the evening. Now, will youdo this?O no, indeed! said Bathsheba, blushing. Thankyou very much, but I couldn't on any account.Surely you might? Nobody would know.She shook her head, but with a weakened negation.If I were to. she said, I must bring Liddy too. MightI not?Troy looked far away. I don't see why you wantto bring her. he said coldly.An unconscious look of assent in Bathsheba's eyesbetrayed that something more than his coldness hadmade her also feel that Liddy Would be superfluous inthe suggested scene. She had felt it, even whilst makingthe proposal.Well, I won't bring Liddy -- and I'll come. Butonly for a very short time. she added; a very shorttime.It will not take five minutes. said Troy.
CHAPTER XXVIII