a turn of the road by the Vents, made a snatch at the pony’s bridle. And
he caught him a good one too, right over the face, he said, that made
him drop down in the mud a jolly sight quicker than he had jumped up;
but it was a good half-a-mile before he could stop the pony. Maybe that
in his desperate endeavours to get help, and in his need to get in touch
with some one, the poor devil had tried to stop the cart. Also three
boys confessed afterwards to throwing stones at a funny tramp, knocking
about all wet and muddy, and, it seemed, very drunk, in the narrow deep
lane by the limekilns. All this was the talk of three villages for days;
but we have Mrs. Finn’s (the wife of Smith’s waggoner) unimpeachable
testimony that she saw him get over the low wall of Hammond’s pig-pound
and lurch straight at her, babbling aloud in a voice that was enough to
make one die of fright. Having the baby with her in a perambulator, Mrs.
Finn called out to him to go away, and as he persisted in coming nearer,
she hit him courageously with her umbrella over the head and, without
once looking back, ran like the wind with the perambulator as far as the
first house in the village. She stopped then, out of breath, and spoke
to old Lewis, hammering there at a heap of stones; and the old chap,
taking off his immense black wire goggles, got up on his shaky legs
to look where she pointed. Together they followed with their eyes the
figure of the man running over a field; they saw him fall down, pick
himself up, and run on again, staggering and waving his long arms above
his head, in the direction of the New Barns Farm. From that moment he
is plainly in the toils of his obscure and touching destiny. There is
no doubt after this of what happened to him. All is certain now: Mrs.
Smith’s intense terror; Amy Foster’s stolid conviction held against
the other’s nervous attack, that the man ‘meant no harm’; Smith’s
exasperation (on his return from Darnford Market) at finding the dog
barking himself into a fit, the back-door locked, his wife in hysterics;
and all for an unfortunate dirty tramp, supposed to be even then lurking
in his stackyard. Was he? He would teach him to frighten women.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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