...Now, for instance, can ye charm away warts?"
"Without trouble."
"Cure the evil?"
"That I've done--with consideration--if they will wear the toad-bag by
night as well as by day."
"Forecast the weather?"
"With labour and time."
"Then take this," said Henchard. "'Tis a crownpiece. Now, what is the
harvest fortnight to be? When can I know?'
"I've worked it out already, and you can know at once." (The fact
was that five farmers had already been there on the same errand from
different parts of the country.) "By the sun, moon, and stars, by the
clouds, the winds, the trees, and grass, the candle-flame and swallows,
the smell of the herbs; likewise by the cats' eyes, the ravens, the
leeches, the spiders, and the dungmixen, the last fortnight in August
will be--rain and tempest."
"You are not certain, of course?"
"As one can be in a world where all's unsure. 'Twill be more like living
in Revelations this autumn than in England. Shall I sketch it out for
'ee in a scheme?"
"O no, no," said Henchard. "I don't altogether believe in forecasts,
come to second thoughts on such. But I--"
"You don't--you don't--'tis quite understood," said Wide-oh, without a
sound of scorn. "You have given me a crown because you've one too many.
But won't you join me at supper, now 'tis waiting and all?"
Henchard would gladly have joined; for the savour of the stew
had floated from the cottage into the porch with such appetizing
distinctness that the meat, the onions, the pepper, and the herbs could
be severally recognized by his nose.
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