Jude the Obsure - Page 5/318

Jude, finding the general attention again centering on himself, went

out to the bakehouse, where he ate the cake provided for his

breakfast. The end of his spare time had now arrived, and emerging

from the garden by getting over the hedge at the back he pursued a

path northward, till he came to a wide and lonely depression in the

general level of the upland, which was sown as a corn-field. This

vast concave was the scene of his labours for Mr Troutham the farmer,

and he descended into the midst of it.

The brown surface of the field went right up towards the sky all

round, where it was lost by degrees in the mist that shut out the

actual verge and accentuated the solitude. The only marks on the

uniformity of the scene were a rick of last year's produce standing

in the midst of the arable, the rooks that rose at his approach, and

the path athwart the fallow by which he had come, trodden now by he

hardly knew whom, though once by many of his own dead family.

"How ugly it is here!" he murmured.

The fresh harrow-lines seemed to stretch like the channellings in

a piece of new corduroy, lending a meanly utilitarian air to the

expanse, taking away its gradations, and depriving it of all history

beyond that of the few recent months, though to every clod and stone

there really attached associations enough and to spare--echoes of

songs from ancient harvest-days, of spoken words, and of sturdy

deeds. Every inch of ground had been the site, first or last,

of energy, gaiety, horse-play, bickerings, weariness. Groups of

gleaners had squatted in the sun on every square yard. Love-matches

that had populated the adjoining hamlet had been made up there

between reaping and carrying. Under the hedge which divided the

field from a distant plantation girls had given themselves to lovers

who would not turn their heads to look at them by the next harvest;

and in that ancient cornfield many a man had made love-promises to

a woman at whose voice he had trembled by the next seed-time after

fulfilling them in the church adjoining. But this neither Jude nor

the rooks around him considered. For them it was a lonely place,

possessing, in the one view, only the quality of a work-ground, and

in the other that of a granary good to feed in.

The boy stood under the rick before mentioned, and every few seconds

used his clacker or rattle briskly. At each clack the rooks left off

pecking, and rose and went away on their leisurely wings, burnished

like tassets of mail, afterwards wheeling back and regarding him

warily, and descending to feed at a more respectful distance.