Chapter 1

It was half-past four o'clock (by the testimony of the land-surveyor,
my authority for the particulars of this story, a gentleman with the
faintest curve of humour on his lips); it was half-past four o'clock
on a May morning in the eighteen forties. A dense white fog hung
over the Valley of the Exe, ending against the hills on either side.

But though nothing in the vale could be seen from higher ground,
notes of differing kinds gave pretty clear indications that bustling
life was going on there. This audible presence and visual absence of
an active scene had a peculiar effect above the fog level. Nature
had laid a white hand over the creatures ensconced within the vale,
as a hand might be laid over a nest of chirping birds.

The noises that ascended through the pallid coverlid were perturbed
lowings, mingled with human voices in sharps and flats, and the bark
of a dog. These, followed by the slamming of a gate, explained as
well as eyesight could have done, to any inhabitant of the district,
that Dairyman Tucker's under-milker was driving the cows from the
meads into the stalls. When a rougher accent joined in the
vociferations of man and beast, it would have been realized that the
dairy-farmer himself had come out to meet the cows, pail in hand, and
white pinafore on; and when, moreover, some women's voices joined in
the chorus, that the cows were stalled and proceedings about to
commence.

A hush followed, the atmosphere being so stagnant that the milk could
be heard buzzing into the pails, together with occasional words of
the milkmaids and men.

'Don't ye bide about long upon the road, Margery. You can be back
again by skimming-time.'

The rough voice of Dairyman Tucker was the vehicle of this remark.
The barton-gate slammed again, and in two or three minutes a
something became visible, rising out of the fog in that quarter.

The shape revealed itself as that of a woman having a young and agile
gait. The colours and other details of her dress were then
disclosed--a bright pink cotton frock (because winter was over); a
small woollen shawl of shepherd's plaid (because summer was not
come); a white handkerchief tied over her head-gear, because it was
so foggy, so damp, and so early; and a straw bonnet and ribbons
peeping from under the handkerchief, because it was likely to be a
sunny May day.

Her face was of the hereditary type among families down in these
parts: sweet in expression, perfect in hue, and somewhat irregular
in feature. Her eyes were of a liquid brown. On her arm she carried
a withy basket, in which lay several butter-rolls in a nest of wet
cabbage-leaves. She was the 'Margery' who had been told not to 'bide
about long upon the road.'