In a lonely hamlet a few miles from the town - so lonely that what are called lonely villages were teeming by comparison - there lived a man of curious repute as a forecaster or weather-prophet. The way to his house was crooked and miry - even difficult in the present unpropitious season.
One evening when it was raining so heavily that ivy and laurel resounded like distant musketry, and an out-door man could be excused for shrouding himself to his ears and eyes, such a shrouded figure on foot might have been perceived travelling in the direction of the hazel-copse which dripped over the prophet's cot. The turnpike-road became a lane, the lane a cart-track, the cart-track a bridle-path, the bridle-path a footway, the foot-way overgrown.
The solitary walker slipped here and there, and stumbled over the natural springes formed by the brambles, till at length he reached the house, which, with its garden, was surrounded with a high, dense hedge. The cottage, comparatively a large one, had been built of mud by the occupier's own hands, and thatched also by himself. Here he had always lived, and here it was assumed he would die.
He existed on unseen supplies; for it was an anomalous thing that while there was hardly a soul in the neighbourhood but affected to laugh at this man's assertions, uttering the formula, "There's nothing in 'em", with full assurance on the surface of their faces, very few of them were unbelievers in their secret hearts. Whenever they consulted him they did it "for a fancy". When they paid him they said, "Just a trifle for Christmas", of "Candlemas", as the case might be.
He would have preferred more honesty in his clients, and less sham ridicule;but fundamental belief consoled him for superficial irony. As stated, he was enabled to live; people supported him with their backs turned. He was sometimes astonished that men could profess so little and believe so much at his house, when at church they professed so much and believed so little.
Behind his back he was called "Wide-oh", on account of his reputation;to his face "Mr" Fall.
The hedge of his garden formed an arch over the entrance, and a door was inserted as in a wall. Outside the door the tall traveller stopped, bandaged his face with a handkerchief as if he were suffering from toothache, and went up the path. The windows shutters were not closed, and he could see the prophet within, preparing his supper.
In answer to the knock Fall came to the door, candle in hand. The visitor stepped back a little from the light, and said, "Can I speak to 'ee?" in significant tones. The other's invitation to come in was responded to by the country formula, "This will do, thank 'ee", after which the householder has no alternative but to come out. He placed the candle on the corner of the dresser, took his hat from a nail, and joined the stranger in the porch, shutting the door behind him.
"I've long heard that you can - do things of a sort?" began the other, repressing his individuality as much as he could.
"Maybe so, Mr Henchard," said the weather-caster.
"Ah - why do you call me that?" asked the visitor with a start.
"Because it's your name. Feeling you'd come I've waited for 'ee; and thinking you might be leery from your walk I laid two supper plates - look ye here." He threw open the door and disclosed the supper-table, at which appeared a second chair, knife and fork, plate and mugs, as he had declared.
Henchard felt like Saul at his reception by Samuel; he remained in silence for a few moments, then throwing off the disguise of frigidity which he had hitherto preserved, he said, "Then I have not come in vain... 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 crown-piece. 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 candleflame 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?"
