“My　eyes　have　got　foggy…like—please　may　I　sit　down；　master？”　said　the　boy。
  “To　be　sure；　poor　chap。　　‘Tis　enough　to　make　you　feel　fainty。
  Sit　on　that　bundle。”
  The　man　finished　tying　up　the　gash；　and　the　boy　said；　“I　think　I’ll　go　home　now；　master。”
  “You　are　rather　afraid　of　me。　　Do　you　know　what　I　be？”
  The　child　surveyed　his　vermilion　figure　up　and　down　with　much　misgiving　and　finally　said；　“Yes。”
  “Well；　what？”
  “The　reddleman！”　he　faltered。
  “Yes；　that’s　what　I　be。　　Though　there’s　more　than　one。　　You　little　children　think　there’s　only　one　cuckoo；　one　fox；　one　giant；　one　devil；　and　one　reddleman；　when　there’s　lots　of　us　all。”
  “Is　there？　　You　won’t　carry　me　off　in　your　bags；　will　ye；　master？　　‘Tis　said　that　the　reddleman　will　sometimes。”
  “Nonsense。　All　that　reddlemen　do　is　sell　reddle。　　You　see　all　these　bags　at　the　back　of　my　cart？　　They　are　not　full　of　little　boys—only　full　of　red　stuff。”
  “Was　you　born　a　reddleman？”
  “No；　I　took　to　it。　　I　should　be　as　white　as　you　if　I　were　to　give　up　the　trade—that　is；　I　should　be　white　in　time—perhaps　six　months；　not　at　first；　because　‘tis　grow’d　into　my　skin　and　won’t　wash　out。　　Now；　you’ll　never　be　afraid　of　a　reddleman　again；　will　ye？”
  “No；　never。　　Willy　Orchard　said　he　seed　a　red　ghost　here　t’other　day—perhaps　that　was　you？”
  “I　was　here　t’other　day。”
  “Were　you　making　that　dusty　light　I　saw　by　now？”
  “Oh　yes；　I　was　beating　out　some　bags。　　And　have　you　had　a　good　bonfire　up　there？　　I　saw　the　light。　　Why　did　Miss　Vye　want　a　bonfire　so　bad　that　she　should　give　you　sixpence　to　keep　it　up？”
  “I　don’t　know。　　I　was　tired；　but　she　made　me　bide　and　keep　up　the　fire　just　the　same；　while　she　kept　going　up　across　Rainbarrow　way。”
  “And　how　long　did　that　last？”
  “Until　a　hopfrog　jumped　into　the　pond。”
  The　reddleman　suddenly　ceased　to　talk　idly。　　“A　hopfrog？”　he　inquired。　　“Hopfrogs　don’t　jump　into　ponds　this　time　of　year。”
  “They　do；　for　I　heard　one。”
  “Certain…sure？”
  “Yes。　She　told　me　afore　that　I　should　hear’n；　and　so　I　did。　　They　say　she’s　clever　and　deep；　and　perhaps　she　charmed　‘en　to　e。”
  “And　what　then？”
  “Then　I　came　down　here；　and　I　was　afeard；　and　I　went　back；　but　I　didn’t　like　to　speak　to　her；　because　of　the　gentleman；　and　I　came　on　here　again。”
  “A　gentleman—ah！　What　did　she　say　to　him；　my　man？”
  “Told　him　she　supposed　he　had　not　married　the　other　woman　because　he　liked　his　old　sweetheart　best；　and　things　like　that。”
  “What　did　the　gentleman　say　to　her；　my　sonny？”
  “He　only　said　he　did　like　her　best；　and　how　he　was　ing　to　see　her　again　under　Rainbarrow　o’　nights。”
  “Ha！”　cried　the　reddleman；　slapping　his　hand　against　the　side　of　his　van　so　that　the　whole　fabric　shook　under　the　blow。　　“That’s　the　secret　o’t！”
  The　little　boy　jumped　clean　from　the　stool。
  “My　man；　don’t　you　be　afraid；”　said　the　dealer　in　red；　suddenly　being　gentle。　　“I　forgot　you　were　here。　　That’s　only　a　curious　way　reddlemen　have　of　going　mad　for　a　moment；　but　they　don’t　hurt　anybody。　　And　what　did　the　lady　say　then？”
  “I　can’t　mind。　　Please；　Master　Reddleman；　may　I　go　home…along　now？”
  “Ay；　to　be　sure　you　may。　　I’ll　go　a　bit　of　ways　with　you。”
  He　conducted　the　boy　out　of　the　gravel　pit　and　into　the　path　leading　to　his　mother’s　cottage。　　When　the　little　figure　had　vanished　in　the　darkness　the　reddleman　returned；　resumed　his　seat　by　the　fire；　and　proceeded　to　darn　again。
  9　… Love　Leads　a　Shrewd　Man　into　Strategy
  Reddlemen　of　the　old　school　are　now　but　seldom　seen。　　Since　the　introduction　of　railways　Wessex　farmers　have　managed　to　do　without　these　Mephistophelian　visitants；　and　the　bright　pigment　so　largely　used　by　shepherds　in　preparing　sheep　for　the　fair　is　obtained　by　other　routes。　　Even　those　who　yet　survive　are　losing　the　poetry　of　existence　which　characterized　them　when　the　pursuit　of　the　trade　meant　periodical　journeys　to　the　pit　whence　the　material　was　dug；　a　regular　camping　out　from　month　to　month；　except　in　the　depth　of　winter；　a　peregrination　among　farms　which　could　be　counted　by　the　hundred；　and　in　spite　of　this　Arab　existence　the　preservation　of　that　respectability　which　is　insured　by　the　never…failing　production　of　a　well…lined　purse。
  Reddle　spreads　its　lively　hues　over　everything　it　lights　on；　and　stamps　unmistakably；　as　with　the　mark　of　Cain；　any　person　who　has　handled　it　half　an　hour。
  A　child’s　first　sight　of　a　reddleman　was　an　epoch　in　his　life。　　That　blood…coloured　figure　was　a　sublimation　of　all　the　horrid　dreams　which　had　afflicted　the　juvenile　spirit　since　imagination　began。　　“The　reddleman　is　ing　for　you！”　had　been　the　formulated　threat　of　Wessex　mothers　for　many　generations。　　He　was　successfully　supplanted　for　a　while；　at　the　beginning　of　the　present　century；　by　Buonaparte；　but　as　process　of　time　rendered　the　latter　personage　stale　and　ineffective　the　older　phrase　resumed　its　early　prominence。　　And　now　the　reddleman　has　in　his　turn　followed　Buonaparte　to　the　land　of　worn…out　bogeys；　and　his　place　is　filled　by　modern　inventions。
  The　reddleman　lived　like　a　gipsy；　but　gipsies　he　scorned。　　He　was　about　as　thriving　as　travelling　basket　and　mat　makers；　but　he　had　nothing　to　do　with　them。　　He　was　more　decently　born　and　brought　up　than　the　cattledrovers　who　passed　and　repassed　him　in　his　wanderings；　but　they　merely　nodded　to　him。　　His　stock　was　more　valuable　than　that　of　pedlars；　but　they　did　not　think　so；　and　passed　his　cart　with　eyes　straight　ahead。　　He　was　such　an　unnatural　colour　to　look　at　that　the　men　of　roundabouts　and　waxwork　shows　seemed　gentlemen　beside　him；　but　he　considered　them　low　pany；　and　remained　aloof。　　Among　all　these　squatters　and　folks　of　the　road　the　reddleman　continually　found　himself；　yet　he　was　not　of　them。　　His　occupation　tended　to　isolate　him；　and　isolated　he　was　mostly　seen　to　be。
  It　was　sometimes　suggested　that　reddlemen　were　criminals　for　whose　misdeeds　other　men　wrongfully　suffered—that　in　escaping　the　law　they　had　not　escaped　their　own　consciences；　and　had　taken　to　the　trade　as　a　lifelong　penance。　　Else　why　should　they　have　chosen　it？　　In　the　present　case　such　a　question　would　have　been　particularly　apposite。　　The　reddleman　who　had　entered　Egdon　that　afternoon　was　an　instance　of　the　pleasing　being　wasted　to　form　the　ground…work　of　the　singular；　when　an　ugly　foundation　would　have　done　just　as　well　for　that　purpose。　　The　one　point　that　was　forbidding　about　this　reddleman　was　his　colour。　　Freed　from　that　he　would　have　been　as　agreeable　a　specimen　of　rustic　manhood　as　one　would　often　see。　　A　keen　observer　might　have　been　inclined　to　think—which　was；　indeed；　partly　the　truth—that　he　had　relinquished　his　proper　station　in　life　for　want　of　interest　in　it。　　Moreover；　after　looking　at　him　one　would　have　hazarded　the　guess　that　good　nature；　and　an　acuteness　as　extreme　as　it　could　be　without　verging　on　craft；　formed　the　framework　of　his　character。
  While　he　darned　the　stocking　his　face　became　rigid　with　thought。　　Softer　expressions　followed　this；　and　then　again　recurred　the　tender　sadness　which　had　sat　upon　him　during　his　drive　along　the　highway　that　afternoon。　　Presently　his　needle　stopped。　　He　laid　down　the　stocking；　arose　from　his　seat；　and　took　a　leathern　pouch　from　a　hook　in　the　corner　of　the　van。　　This　contained　among　other　articles　a　brown…paper　packet；　which；　to　judge　from　the　hinge…like　character　of　its　worn　folds；　seemed　to　have　been　carefully　opened　and　closed　a　good　many　times。　　He　sat　down　on　a　three…legged　milking　stool　that　formed　the　only　seat　in　the　van；　and；　examining　his　packet　by　the　light　of　a　candle；　took　thence　an　old　letter　and　spread　it　open。　　The　writing　had　originally　been　traced　on　white　paper；　but　the　letter　had　now　assumed　a　pale　red　tinge　from　the　accident　of　its　situation；　and　the　black　strokes　of　writing　thereon　looked　like　the　twigs　of　a　winter　hedge　against　a　vermilion　sunset。　　The　letter　bore　a　date　some　two　years　previous　to　that　time；　and　was　signed　“Thomasin　Yeobright。”　　It　ran　as　follows：
  DEAR　DIGGORY　VENN；The　question　you　put　when　you
  overtook　me　ing　home　from　Pond…close　gave　me　such　a　surprise　that　I　am　afraid　I　did　not　make　you　exactly　understand　what　I　meant。　　Of　course；　if　my　aunt　had　not　met　me　I　could　have　explained　all　then　at　once；　but　as　it　was　there　was　no　chance。　　I　have　been　quite　uneasy　since；　as　you　know　I　do　not　wish　to　pain　you；　yet　I　fear　I　shall　be　doing　so　now　in　contradicting　what　I　seemed　to　say　then。　　I　cannot；　Diggory；　marry　you；　or　think　of　letting　you　call　me　your　sweetheart。　　I　could　not；　indeed；　Diggory。　　I　hope　you　will　not　much　mind　my　saying　this；　and　feel　in　a　great　pain。　　It　makes　me　very　sad　when　I　think　it　may；　for　I　like　you　very　much；　and　I　always　put　you　next　to　my　cousin　Clym　in　my　mind。　　There　are　so　many　reasons　why　we　cannot　be　married　that　I　can　hardly　name　them　all　in　a　letter。　　I　did　not　in　the　least　expect　that　you　were　going　to　speak　on　such　a　thing　when　you　followed　me；　because　I　had　never　thought　of　you　in　the　sense　of　a　lover　at　all。　　You　must　not　becall　me　for　laughing　when　you　spoke；　you　mistook　when　you　thought　I　laughed　at　you　as　a　foolish　man。　　I　laughed　because　the　idea　was　so　odd；　and　not　at　you　at　all。　　The　great　reason　with　my　own　personal　self　for　no