The Three Strangers

Among the few features of agricultural England which retain an

appearance but little modified by the lapse of centuries, may be reckoned

the high, grassy and furzy downs, coombs, or ewe-leases, as they are

indifferently called, that fill a large area of certain counties in the south

and southwest. If any mark of human occupation is met with hereon, it

usually takes the form of the solitary cottage of some shepherd.

Fifty years ago such a lonely cottage stood on such a down, and may

possibly be standing there now. In spite of its loneliness, however, the

spot, by actual measurement, was not more than five miles from a

county-town. Yet that affected it little. Five miles of irregular upland,

during the long inimical seasons, with their sleets, snows, rains, and

mists, afford withdrawing space enough to isolate a Timon or a

Nebuchadnezzar; much less, in fair weather, to please that less repellent

tribe, the poets, philosophers, artists, and others who "conceive and

meditate of pleasant things."

Some old earthen camp or barrow, some clump of trees, at least some

starved fragment of ancient hedge is usually taken advantage of in the

erection of these forlorn dwellings. But, in the present case, such a kind

of shelter had been disregarded. Higher Crowstairs, as the house was

called, stood quite detached and undefended. The only reason for its

precise situation seemed to be the crossing of two footpaths at right

angles hard by, which may have crossed there and thus for a good five

hundred years. Hence the house was exposed to the elements on all

sides. But, though the wind up here blew unmistakably when it did blow,

and the rain hit hard whenever it fell, the various weathers of the winter

season were not quite so formidable on the coomb as they were imagined

to be by dwellers on low ground. The raw rimes were not so pernicious as

in the hollows, and the frosts were scarcely so severe. When the shepherd

and his family who tenanted the house were pitied for their sufferings

from the exposure, they said that upon the whole they were less

inconvenienced by "wuzzes and flames" (hoarses and phlegms) than

when they had lived by the stream of a snug neighboring valley.

The night of March 28, 182-, was precisely one of the nights that were

wont to call forth these expressions of commiseration. The level rainstorm

smote walls, slopes, and hedges like the clothyard shafts of Senlac and

Crecy. Such sheep and outdoor animals as had no shelter stood with their

buttocks to the winds; while the tails of little birds trying to roost on some

scraggy thorn were blown inside-out like umbrellas. The gable-end of the

cottage was stained with wet, and the eavesdroppings flapped against the

wall. Yet never was commiseration for the shepherd more misplaced. For

that cheerful rustic was entertaining a large party in glorification of the

christening of his second girl.

The guests had arrived before the rain began to fall, and they were all

now assembled in the chief or living room of the dwelling. A glance into

the apartment at eight o'clock on this eventful evening would have

resulted in the opinion that it was as cosy and comfortable a nook as

could be wished for in boisterous weather. The calling of its inhabitant

was proclaimed by a number of highly-polished sheep crooks without

stems that were hung ornamentally over the fireplace, the curl of each

shining crook varying from the antiquated type engraved in the

patriarchal pictures of old family Bibles to the most approved fashion of

the last local sheep-fair. The room was lighted by half-a-dozen candles,

having wicks only a trifle smaller than the grease which enveloped them,

in candlesticks that were never used but at high-days, holy-days, and

family feasts. The lights were scattered about the room, two of them

standing on the chimney-piece. This position of candles was in itself

significant. Candles on the chimney-piece always meant a party.

On the hearth, in front of a back-brand to give substance, blazed a fire of

thorns, that crackled "like the laughter of the fool."

Nineteen persons were gathered here. Of these, five women, wearing

gowns of various bright hues, sat in chairs along the wall; girls shy and

not shy filled the window-bench; four men, including Charley Jake the

hedge-carpenter, Elijah New the parish-clerk, and John Pitcher, a

neighboring dairyman, the shepherd's father-in-law, lolled in the settle; a

young man and maid, who were blushing over tentative _pourparlers_ on

a life-companionship, sat beneath the corner-cupboard; and an elderly

engaged man of fifty or upward moved restlessly about from spots where

his betrothed was not to the spot where she was. Enjoyment was pretty

general, and so much the more prevailed in being unhampered by

conventional restrictions. Absolute confidence in each other's good

opinion begat perfect ease, while the finishing stroke of manner,

amounting to a truly princely serenity, was lent to the majority by the

absence of any expression or trait denoting that they wished to get on in

the world, enlarge their minds, or do any eclipsing thing whatever--which

nowadays so generally nips the bloom and _bonhomie_ of all except the

two extremes of the social scale.