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Whether Thomasine was pretty could hardly be stated definitely. It mustremain a matter of opinion whether any face can be beautiful which isentirely lacking in expression, has no mind behind the tongue, and nospeaking brain at the back of the eyes. Many, no doubt, would havethought her perfection. She was plump and full of blood; it seemed readyto burst through her skin. She was somewhat grossly built; too wide atthe thighs, big-handed, and large-footed, with not much waist, and aclumsy stoop from the shoulders. She waddled in her walk like mostDevonshire farm-maids. Her complexion was perfect; so was her health.She had a lust-provoking face; big sleepy eyes; cheeks absolutelyscarlet; pouting lips swollen with blood, almost the colour of anover-ripe peach. It was more like paint than natural colouring. It wastoo strong. She had too much blood. She was part of the exaggeration ofDartmoor, which exaggerates everything; adding fierceness to fierceness,colour to colour, strength to strength; just as its rain is fiercer thanthat of the valleys, and its wind mightier. Thomasine was of the Tavyfamily, but not of the romantic branch. Not of the folklore side likeBoodles, but of the Ger Tor family, the strong mountain branch whichknows nothing and cannot think for itself, and only feels the riverwearing it away, and the frost rotting it, and the wind beating it. Thepity was that Thomasine did not know she had a mind, which was alreadyfading for want of use. She knew only how to peel potatoes and makeherself wanton underwear. Although twenty-two years of age she was stilla maid.

Beyond the bridge, which crossed the Tavy near the entrance to the fieldwhere the main pleasure-fair was making noises curiously suggestive of asavage war-dance, Thomasine walked slowly to and fro. She had been doingthat ever since eleven o'clock, varying the occupation by standing stillfor an hour or so gazing with patient cow's eyes along the road.Pendoggat had promised to meet her there, and treat her to all the funof the fair. He had told her not to move from that spot until hearrived, and she had to be obedient. She had been waiting four hours inher best clothes, sometimes shaking the dust from her new petticoat, orwiping her eyes with her Sunday handkerchief, but never going beyond thebridge or venturing into the fair-field. One or two young men hadaccosted her, but she had told them in a frightened way she was waitingfor a gentleman. She had seen her former young man. Will Pugsley, passwith a new sweetheart upon his arm; and although Thomasine was unable toreason she was able to feel miserable. Pendoggat was upon the otherside, kicking a calf he had purchased along the road, enjoying himselfafter his own manner. He had forgotten all about Thomasine, and all thathis promise and the holiday meant to her. Besides, Annie Crocker waswith him like a sort of burr, clinging wherever he went, and not to beeasily shaken off; and she too wanted to be in the fair-field; only, asshe kept on reminding him, it was no place for a decent woman alone, andshe couldn't go unless he took her. To which Pendoggat replied that shewasn't a decent woman, and if she had been nobody would want to speak toher. They swore at each other in a subdued fashion whenever they foundthemselves in a quiet corner.

Young Pugsley had been round to the kitchen door after dark since GooseFair, and had urged Thomasine to wear a ring. The poor girl was willing,but she could not accept the offer, for more than one reason. YoungPugsley was not a bad fellow; not the sort to go about with a revolverin his pocket and an intention to use it if his young woman provedfickle. His wages were rising, and he thought he could get a cottage ifThomasine would let him court her. He admitted he was giving his companyto another girl, and should go on with his attentions if Thomasine wouldnot have him. The girl went back into the kitchen and began to cry; andPugsley shuffled after her in a docile manner and sought to embrace herin the dark; but she pushed him off, with the saying: "I bain't goodenough for yew, Will." Pugsley felt the age of chivalry echoing withinhim as he replied that he was only an everyday young chap, but if he waswilling to take her it wasn't for her to have opinions about herself;only he couldn't hang on for ever, and she must make up her mind one wayor the other, as he was doing well, getting fourteen shillings now, andwith all that money it was his duty to get married, and if he didn't hemight get into the way of spending his evenings in the pot-house.Thomasine only cried the more, until at last she managed to find thewords of a confession which sent him from her company for ever. On thatoccasion it was fortunate for the girl that she could not think, becausethe faculty of reason could have done nothing beyond suggesting to herthat the opportunity of leading a respectable life had gone from her,like her sweetheart, never to return.

He had come in an angry mood, prepared to punish the girl, and to makeher suffer, for having dared to flaunt with young Pugsley before hiseyes in Tavistock. He had brought his whip into the linhay, with somenotion of using it, and of drawing the girl's blood, as he had drawn itwith the sprig of gorse at the beginning of his courtship. But insidethe dreary foul-smelling place his feelings changed. Possibly it wasbecause he was out of the wild wind, sheltered from it by the crackedcob walls, or perhaps he felt himself in chapel; for when he took holdof Thomasine and pulled her to him he felt nothing but tenderness, andthe desire in him then was not to punish, nor even to rebuke her, but topreach, to tell her something of the love of God, to point out to herhow wicked she had been to yield to him, and how certain was the doomwhich would come upon her for doing so. These feelings also passed whenhe had the girl in his arms, feeling her soft neck, her big lips, herhot blood-filled cheeks, and her knees trembling against his. For thetime passion went away and Pendoggat was a lover; a weak and foolishbeing, intoxicated by that which has always been to mankind, and alwaysmust be, what the fragrance of the lime-blossom is to the bee. EvenPendoggat had that something in him which theologians say was made inheaven, or at least outside this earth; and he was to know in that dirtylinhay, with moisture around and dung below, the best and tenderestmoments of his life. He was to enter, if only for once, that wonderfulland of perennial spring flowers where Boodles and Aubrey wandered,reading their fairy-tales in each other's eyes.

He was a silly old man in many ways. People with an intense kindness foranimals are probably freaks of Nature, who has tried to teach them to becruel, only they have rejected her teaching. Love for animals is,strictly speaking, no part of the accepted religion. Hebrew literature,so far from teaching kindness to animals, as the Koran does, recommendsthe opposite; and the founder of Christianity in his dealings withanimals destroyed them. Fondness for animals began probably when menfirst admitted beasts into their homes as members of the family, as theBedouin Arab treated his horse. Such animals developed new traits andadvanced towards a far higher state of evolution than they would haveattained under natural conditions. With higher intelligence came also agreater sensitiveness to pain. Those animals, such as the horse and dog,who have been brought up with men, and acquired so much from them, havean equal right to be protected by the laws which protect men. Such weresome of Weevil's arguments, but perhaps he was mistaken. He had failedsignally to impart the doctrine of kindness to animals to hisneighbours. He went too far, a common fault among men who are obsessedwith a single idea. He attacked the rabbit-trap violently, which wasmanifestly absurd, and only convinced people that he was mad. Hedeclared that the rabbit, caught and held in the iron jaws of the trapto perish miserably hour by hour, must suffer agonies. He had himselfput his finger into such a trap, and was unable to bear the pain morethan ten minutes. Naturally people laughed at him. What a fool he mustbe to put his finger in a trap! It had always been the custom to capturerabbits in that savage way, and if it had been cruel the clergy wouldhave preached against it and the law would have prohibited it. But whenWeevil went on to assert that the rabbits had feelings he got beyondthem entirely, and they could only shake their heads at him, and feelsorry for his insanity, and despise him for being such a bad sportsman.Even the village constable felt he must draw the line somewhere, andobjected to paying any tribute of respect to a dafty old man who wentabout telling people that rabbits could feel pain. When he met Weevil hegrinned, and looked the other way to avoid saluting him. 041b061a72