1. MARCH THE TWENTY-NINTH. NOON Exactly seven days after Edward Springrove had seen the man with the bundle of straw walking down the streets of Casterbridge, old Farmer Springrove was standing on the edge of the same pavement, talking to his friend, Farmer Baker.
There was a pause in their discourse. Mr. Springrove was looking down the street at some object which had attracted his attention.
'Ah, 'tis what we shall all come to!' he murmured.
The other looked in the same direction. 'True, neighbour Springrove; true.' Two men, advancing one behind the other in the middle of the road, were what the farmers referred to. They were carpenters, and bore on their shoulders an empty coffin, covered by a thin black cloth.
'I always feel a satisfaction at being breasted by such a sight as that,' said Springrove, still regarding the men's sad burden. 'I call it a sort of medicine.' 'And it is medicine. . . . I have not heard of any body being ill up this way lately? D'seem as if the person died suddenly.' 'May be so. Ah, Baker, we say sudden death, don't we? But there's no difference in their nature between sudden death and death of any other sort. There's no such thing as a random snapping off of what was laid down to last longer. We only suddenly light upon an end --thoughtfully formed as any other--which has been existing at that very same point from the beginning, though unseen by us to be so soon.' 'It is just a discovery to your own mind, and not an alteration in the Lord's.' 'That's it. Unexpected is not as to the thing, but as to our sight.' 'Now you'll hardly believe me, neighbour, but this little scene in front of us makes me feel less anxious about pushing on wi' that threshing and winnowing next week, that I was speaking about. Why should we not stand still, says I to myself, and fling a quiet eye upon the Whys and the Wherefores, before the end o' it all, and we go down into the mouldering-place, and are forgotten?' ''Tis a feeling that will come. But 'twont bear looking into.
There's a back'ard current in the world, and we must do our utmost to advance in order just to bide where we be. But, Baker, they are turning in here with the coffin, look.' The two carpenters had borne their load into a narrow way close at hand. The farmers, in common with others, turned and watched them along the way.
''Tis a man's coffin, and a tall man's, too,' continued Farmer Springrove. 'His was a fine frame, whoever he was.' 'A very plain box for the poor soul--just the rough elm, you see.' The corner of the cloth had blown aside.