the powers people ascribed to her.
'Father not in the humour for't, hey?' Another potato was finished and flung in. 'Ah, I know about it. Little birds tell me things that people don't dream of my knowing.'
Fancy was desperate about Dick, and here was a chance--O, such a wicked chance--of getting help; and what was goodness beside love!
'I wish you'd tell me how to put him in the humour for it?' she said.
'That I could soon do,' said the witch quietly.
'Really? O, do; anyhow--I don't care--so that it is done! How could I do it, Mrs.
Endorfield?'
'Nothing so mighty wonderful in it.'
'Well, but how?'
'By witchery, of course!' said Elizabeth.
'No!' said Fancy.
''Tis, I assure ye. Didn't you ever hear I was a witch?'
'Well,' hesitated Fancy, 'I have heard you called so.'
'And you believed it?'
'I can't say that I did exactly believe it, for 'tis very horrible and wicked; but, O, how I do wish it was possible for you to be one!'
'So I am. And I'll tell you how to bewitch your father to let you marry Dick Dewy.'
'Will it hurt him, poor thing?'
'Hurt who?'
'Father.'
'No; the charm is worked by common sense, and the spell can only be broke by your acting stupidly.'
Fancy looked rather perplexed, and Elizabeth went on:
'This fear of Lizz--whatever 'tis - By great and small; She makes pretence to common sense, And that's all.
'You must do it like this.' The witch laid down her knife and potato, and then poured into Fancy's ear a long and detailed list of directions, glancing up from the corner of her eye into Fancy's face with an expression of sinister humour. Fancy's face brightened, clouded, rose and sank, as the narrative proceeded. 'There,' said Elizabeth at length, stooping for the knife and another potato, 'do that, and you'll have him by-long and by-late, my dear.'
'And do it I will!' said Fancy.
She then turned her attention to the external world once more. The rain continued as usual, but the wind had abated considerably during the discourse. Judging that it was now possible to keep an umbrella erect, she pulled her hood again over her bonnet, bade the witch good-bye, and went her way.
PART IV: 4. The Spell
Mrs. Endorfield's advice was duly followed.
'I be proper sorry that your daughter isn't so well as she might be,' said a Mellstock man to Geoffrey one morning.
'But is there anything in it?' said Geoffrey uneasily, as he shifted his hat to the right. 'I can't understand the report. She didn't complain to me a bit when I saw her.'
'No appetite at all, they say.'
Geoffrey crossed to Mellstock and called at the school that afternoon. Fancy welcomed him as usual, and asked him to stay and take tea with her.
'I be'n't much for tea, this time o' day,' he said, but stayed.
During the meal he watched her narrowly. And to his great consternation discovered the following unprecedented change in the healthy girl--that she cut herself only a diaphanous slice of bread- and-butter, and, laying it on her plate, passed the meal-time in breaking it into pieces, but eating no more than about one-tenth of the slice. Geoffrey hoped she would say something about Dick, and finish up by weeping, as she had done after the decision against him a few days subsequent to the interview in the garden. But nothing was said, and in due time Geoffrey departed again for Yalbury Wood.
''Tis to be hoped poor Miss Fancy will be able to keep on her school,' said Geoffrey's man Enoch to Geoffrey the following week, as they were shovelling up ant-hills in the wood.
Geoffrey stuck in the shovel, swept seven or eight ants from his sleeve, and killed another that was prowling round his ear, then looked perpendicularly into the earth as usual, waiting for Enoch to say more. 'Well, why shouldn't she?' said the keeper at last.
'The baker told me yesterday,' continued Enoch, shaking out another emmet that had run merrily up his thigh, 'that the bread he've left at that there school-house this last month would starve any mouse in the three creations; that 'twould so! And afterwards I had a pint o' small down at Morrs's, and there I heard more.'
'What might that ha' been?'
'That she used to have a pound o' the best rolled butter a week, regular as clockwork, from Dairyman Viney's for herself, as well as just so much salted for the helping girl, and the 'ooman she calls in; but now the same quantity d'last her three weeks, and then 'tis thoughted she throws it away sour.'
