 the poet's story, she could sit and ponder what a gift life used
to be.
    However, one excellent result of her general apathy was the long-delayed
installation of Oak as bailiff; but he having virtually exercised that function
for a long time already, the change, beyond the substantial increase of wages it
brought, was little more than a nominal one addressed to the outside world.
    Boldwood lived secluded and inactive. Much of his wheat and all his barley
of that season had been spoilt by the rain. It sprouted, grew into intricate
mats, and was ultimately thrown to the pigs in armfuls. The strange neglect
which had produced this ruin and waste became the subject of whispered talk
among all the people round; and it was elicited from one of Boldwood's men that
forgetfulness had nothing to do with it, for he had been reminded of the danger
to his corn as many times and as persistently as inferiors dared to do. The
sight of the pigs turning in disgust from the rotten ears seemed to arouse
Boldwood, and he one evening sent for Oak. Whether it was suggested by
Bathsheba's recent act of promotion or not, the farmer proposed at the interview
that Gabriel should undertake the superintendence of the Lower Farm as well as
of Bathsheba's, because of the necessity Boldwood felt for such aid, and the
impossibility of discovering a more trustworthy man. Gabriel's malignant star
was assuredly setting fast.
    Bathsheba, when she learnt of this proposal - for Oak was obliged to consult
her - at first languidly objected. She considered that the two farms together
were too extensive for the observation of one man. Boldwood, who was apparently
determined by personal rather than commercial reasons, suggested that Oak should
be furnished with a horse for his sole use, when the plan would present no
difficulty, the two farms lying side by side. Boldwood did not directly
communicate with her during these negotiations, only speaking to Oak, who was
the go-between throughout. All was harmoniously arranged at last, and we now see
Oak mounted on a strong cob, and daily trotting the length and breadth of about
two thousand acres in a cheerful spirit of surveillance, as if the crops all
belonged to him - the actual mistress of the one-half, and the master of the
other, sitting in their respective homes in gloomy and sad seclusion.
    Out of this there arose, during the spring succeeding, a talk in the parish
that Gabriel Oak was feathering his nest fast.
    »Whatever d'ye think,« said Susan Tall, »Gable Oak is coming it
