section 25 of Under the Greenwood Tree, this Dipper Vox recording is in the public domain, Under the Greenwood Tree by Thomas Hardy, part 4, chapter 5, after gaining her point. The visit to Geoffrey passed off as delightfully as a visit might have been expected to pass off when it was the first day of smooth experience in a hitherto obstructed love course, and then came a series of several happy days of the same undisturbed serenity. Dick could court her when he chose, stay away when he chose, which was never, walk with her by winding streams and waterfalls and autumn scenery till dews and twilight sent them home, and thus they drew near the day of the harvest thanksgiving, which was also the time chosen for opening the organ in Melstock Church. It chanced that Dick on that very day was called away from Melstock. A younger quaintance had died of consumption at Charmley, a neighbouring village on the previous Monday, and Dick, in fulfilment of a long-standing promise, was to assist in carrying him to the grave. When, on Tuesday, Dick went towards the school to quaint fancy with the fact, it is difficult to say whether his own disappointment at being denied the sight of her triumphant debut as organist was greater than his vexation, that his pet should on this great occasion be deprived of the pleasure of his presence. However, the intelligence was communicated. She bore it as best she could, not without many expressions of regret, and convictions that her performance would be nothing to her now. Just before eleven o'clock on Sunday he set out upon his sad errand. The funeral was to be immediately after the morning service, and as there were four good miles to walk, driving being inconvenient, it became necessary to start comparatively early. Half an hour later would certainly have answered his purpose quite as well, yet at the last moment nothing would content his ardent mind, but that he must go a mile out of his way in the direction of the school, in the hope of getting a glimpse of his love as she started for church. Striking therefore into the lane towards the school, instead of across the Ulys direct to Charmley, he arrived opposite her door as his goddess emerged. If ever a woman looked at divinity, fancy day appeared one that morning as she floated down those school steps, in the form of a nebulous collection of colours inclining to blue. With an audacity unparalleled in the whole history of village school mistresses at this date, partly owing no doubt to Papa's respectable accumulation of cash, which rendered her profession not altogether one of necessity, she had actually donned a hat and feather, and lowered her hitherto plainly looped up hair, which now fell about her shoulders in a profusion of curls.  He had never seen her look so distractingly beautiful before, save on Christmas Eve, when her hair was in the same luxuriant condition of freedom. But his first burst of delighted surprise was followed by less comfortable feelings, as soon as his brain recovered its power to think. Fancy had blushed. Was it with confusion? She had also involuntarily pressed back her curls. She had not expected him. Fancy, you didn't know me for a moment in my funeral clothes, did you? Good morning, Dick. No, really, I didn't know you for an instant in such a sad suit. He looked again at the gay tresses and hat. You've never dressed so charming before, dearest. I like to hear you praise me in that way, Dick, she said, smiling archly. It is meat and drink to a woman. Do I look nice, really? Fye, you know it. Did you remember? I mean, didn't you remember about my going away today? Well, yes I did, Dick. But, you know, I wanted to look well. Forgive me. Yes, darling. Yes, of course, there's nothing to forgive. No, I was only thinking that when we talked on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday about my absence today and I was so sorry for it, you said, Fancy. So were you, sorry. And almost cried and said it would be no pleasure to you to be the attraction of the church today since I could not be there. My dear one, neither will it be so much pleasure to me, but I do take a little delight in my life, I suppose, she pouted. Apart from mine, she looked at him with perplexed eyes. I know you are vexed with me, Dick. And it is because the first Sunday I have curls and a hat and feather since I have been here happens to be the very day you're away and won't be with me. Yes, say it is, for that is it. And you think that all this week I ought to have remembered you wouldn't be here today and not have cared to be better dressed than usual. Yes, you do, Dick. And it is rather unkind. No, no, said Dick earnestly and simply. I didn't think so badly of you as that. I only thought that if you had been gone away, I shouldn't have tried new attractions for the eyes of other people. But then, of course, you and I are different naturally. Well, perhaps we are. Whatever will the vicar say, fancy? I don't fear what he says in the least, she answered proudly, but he won't say anything of the sort you think. No, no. He can hardly have conscience, too, indeed. Now, come, you say, Dick, that you quite forgive me, for I must go, she said with sudden gaiety, and skipped backwards into the porch.  You never have yet, when I've worn curls, you know. Yes, just where you want to so much. Yes, you may. Dick followed her into the inner corner, where he was probably not slow in availing himself of the privilege offered. Now, that's a treat for you, isn't it? She continued. Goodbye, or I should be late. Come and see me tomorrow. You'll be tired tonight. Thus they parted, and fancy proceeded to the church. The organ stood on one side of the chancel, close to and under the immediate eye of the vicar when he was in the pulpit, and also in full view of the congregation. Here she sat down for the first time in such a conspicuous position, her seat having previously been in a remote spot in the aisle. Good heavens, disgraceful, curls, and a hat and feather, said the daughters of the small gentry, who had either only curly hair without a hat and feather, or a hat and feather without curly hair. A bonnet for church always, said sober matrons. That Mr. Maybold was conscious of her presence close beside him during the sermon, that he was not at all angry at her development of costume, that he admired her, she perceived. But she did not say that he loved her during the sermon time, as he had never loved a woman before, that her proximity was a strange delight to him, and that he gloried in her musical success that morning in a spirit quite beyond a mere cleric's glory at the inauguration of a new order of things. The old choir, with humbled hearts, no longer took their seats in the gallery as here too for, which was now given up to the school children who were not singers, and a pupil teacher, but were scattered about with their wives in different parts of the church, having nothing to do with conducting the services for almost the first time in their lives, they all felt awkward, out of place, abashed, and inconvenienced by their hands. The tranter had proposed that they should stay away today and go nutting, but Grandfather William would not hear of such a thing for a moment. No, he replied reproachfully and quoted a verse, Though this has come upon us, let not our hearts be turned back, or our steps go out of the way. So they stood and watched the curls of hair trailing down the back of the successful rival, and the waving of her feather as she swayed her head. After a few timid notes and uncertain touches, her playing became markedly correct, and towards the end, full and free. But whether from prejudice or unbiased judgment, the venerable body of musicians could not help thinking, that the simpler notes that they had been wont to bring forth were more in keeping with the simplicity of their old church than the crowded chords and interludes it was her pleasure to produce. End of section 25, recording by Rachel Linton, Bristol, UK Section 26 of Under the Greenwood Tree This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, Under the Greenwood Tree by Thomas Hardy, Part 4, Chapter 6, Into Temptation The day was done and fancy was again in the schoolhouse. About five o'clock it began to rain, and in rather a dull frame of mind she wandered into the school room for want of something better to do. She was thinking, of her lover, Dick Dewey? Not precisely. Of how weary she was of living alone, how unbearable it would be to return to Yalbury under the rule of her strange-tempered stepmother, that it was far better to be married to anybody than do that, that eight or nine long months had yet to be lived through where the wedding could take place. At the side of the room were high windows of Ham Hillstone, upon either sill of which she could sit, by first mounting a desk and using it as a footstool. As the evening advanced, here she perched herself, as was her custom on such wet and gloomy occasions, put on a light shawl and bonnet, opened the window and looked out at the rain. The window overlooked a field called the Grove, and it was the position from which she used to survey the crown of Dick's passing hat in the early days of their acquaintance and meetings. Not a living soul was now visible anywhere. The rain kept all people indoors who were not forced abroad by necessity, and necessity was less important on Sundays than during the week. Sitting here and thinking again of her lover or of the sensation she'd created at church that day, well, it is unknown. Thinking and thinking, she saw a dark masculine figure arising into distinctness at the further end of the Grove, a man without an umbrella. Nearer and nearer he came and she perceived that he was in deep mourning and then that it was Dick. Yes, in the fondness and foolishness of his young heart, after walking four miles in a drizzling rain without overcoat or umbrella, and in face of a remark from his love that he was not to come because he would be tired, he had made it his business to wander this mile out of his way again from sheer wish of spending ten minutes in her presence. Oh, Dick, how wet you are, she said, as he drew up under the window. Why, your coat shines as if it had been varnished, and your hat, my goodness, there's a streaming hat. Oh, I don't mind, darling, said Dick cheerfully. Wet never hurts me, though I am rather sorry for my best clothes. However, it can't be helped, we lent all the umbrellas to the women. I don't know when I shall get mine back. And look, there's a nasty patch of something just on your shoulder. Ah, that's Japanning. It rubbed off the clamps of poor Jack's coffin when we lowered him from our shoulders upon the beer. I don't care about that, but it was the last deed I could do for him, and it's hard if you can't afford a coat for an old friend.    Don't stay another minute.  If I can reach, then. He looked rather disappointed at not being invited round to the door. She twisted from her seated position and bent herself downwards, but not even by standing on the plinth was it possible for Dick to get his lips into contact with hers as she held them. By great exertion she might have reached a little lower, but then she would have exposed her head to the rain. Never mind, Dick, kiss my hand, she said, flinging it down to him. Now, goodbye. Goodbye. He walked slowly away, turning and turning again to look at her till he was out of sight. During the retreat, she said to herself, almost involuntarily and still conscious of that morning's triumph, I like Dick, and I love him, but how plain and sorry a man looks in the rain with no umbrella and wet through. As he vanished, she made as if to descend from her seat, but glancing in the other direction she saw another form coming along the same track. It was also that of a man. He, too, was in black from top to toe, but he carried an umbrella. He drew nearer, and the direction of the rain caused him so to slant his umbrella that from her height above the ground his head was invisible as she was also to him. He passed in due time directly beneath her, and in looking down upon the exterior of his umbrella, her feminine eyes perceived it to be of superior silk, less common at that date than since, and of elegant make. He reached the entrance to the building, and fancy suddenly lost sight of him. Instead of pursuing the roadway as Dick had done, he had turned sharply round into her own porch. She jumped to the floor, hastily flung off her shawl and bonnet, smoothed and patted her hair till the curls hung in passable condition, and listened. No knock. Nearly a minute passed, and still there was no knock. Then there arose a soft series of raps, no louder than the tapping of a distant woodpecker, and barely distinct enough to reach her ears. She composed herself, and flung open the door. In the porch stood Mr. Maybold.  Good evening, Miss Day. Good evening, Mr. Maybold, she said in a strange state of mind. She had noticed, beyond the ardent hue of his face, that his voice had a singular tremor in it, and that his hand shook, like an aspen leaf, when he laid his umbrella in the corner of the porch. Without another word being spoken by either, he came into the schoolroom, shut the door, and moved close to her. Once inside, the expression of his face was no more discernible by reason of the increasing dusk of evening. I want to speak to you, he then said, seriously, on a perhaps unexpected subject, but one which is all the world to me. I don't know what it may be to you, Miss Day. No reply. Fancy. I have come to ask you if you will be my wife. As a person who had been idly amusing himself with rolling a snowball, might start at finding he had set in motion an avalanche, so did fancy start at these words from the vicar, and in the dead silence which followed them, the breathings of the man and of the woman could be distinctly and separately heard, and there was this difference between them. His respirations gradually grew quieter and less rapid after the annunciation. Hers, from having been low and regular, increased in quickness and force, till she almost panted, I cannot! I cannot, Mr. Maybold! I cannot! Don't ask me, she said. Don't answer in a hurry, he entreated, and do listen to me. This is no sudden feeling on my part. I have loved you for more than six months. Perhaps my late interest in teaching the children here has not been so single-minded as it seemed. You will understand my motive, like me better perhaps, for honestly telling you that I have struggled against my emotion continually, because I have thought that it was not well for me to love you, but I resolved to struggle no longer. I have examined the feelings, and the love I bear you is as genuine as that I could bear any woman. I see your great charm, I respect your natural talents, and the refinement they have brought into your nature. They are quite enough, and more than enough for me. They are equal to anything ever required of the mistress of a quiet Parsonage house, the place in which I shall pass my days wherever it may be situated.  So there is nothing hurried, secret, or untoward in my desire to do this. Fancy, will you marry me? No answer was returned. Don't refuse. Don't, he implored. It would be foolish of you, I mean cruel. Of course we would not live here, Fancy. I have had for a long time the offer of an exchange of livings with a friend in Yorkshire, but I have hitherto refused on account of my mother. There we would go. Your musical powers shall be still further developed. You shall have whatever piano forte you like.  Pony carriage, flowers, birds, pleasant society. Yes, you have enough in you for any society, after a few months of travel with me. Will you, Fancy, marry me? Another pause ensued, varied only by the surging of the rain against the window panes. And then Fancy spoke in a faint and broken voice. Yes, I will, she said.  He advanced quickly and put his arm out to embrace her. She drew back hastily. No, no, not now, she said in an agitated whisper. There are things, but the temptation is too strong and I can't resist it. I can't tell you now, but I must tell you. Don't, please, don't come near me now. I want to think. I can scarcely get myself used to the idea of what I have promised yet. The next minute she turned to a desk, buried her face in her hands and burst into hysterical fit of weeping. Oh, leave me to myself, she sobbed. Leave me. Oh, leave me. Don't be distressed. Don't, dearest. It was with visible difficulty that he restrained himself from approaching her.  I am happy, beyond all measure, happy at having your simple promise. And do go and leave me now, but I must not injustice to you leave for a minute until you are yourself again. There, then, she said, controlling her emotions and standing up, I am not disturbed now. He reluctantly moved towards the door. Good-bye, he murmured tenderly. I'll come to-morrow, about this time. The next morning the vicar rose early. The first thing he did was to write a long and careful letter to his friend in Yorkshire. Then, eating a little breakfast, he crossed the meadow in the direction of Casterbridge, bearing his letter in his pocket that he might post it at the town office and obviate the loss of one day in its transmission that would have resulted had he left it for the foot post through the village. It was a foggy morning, and the trees shared in noisy water drops the moisture that had collected from the thick air, an acorn occasionally falling from its cup to the ground in company with the drippings. In the meads, sheets of spider's web, almost opaque with wet, hung in folds over the fences, and the falling leaves appeared in every variety of brown, green and yellow hue. A low and merry whistling was heard on the highway he was approaching, then the light footsteps of a man going in the same direction as himself. On reaching the junction of his path with the road the vicar beheld Dick Dewey's open and cheerful face.  Good morning, Dewey. How well you are looking, said Mr. Maybold. Yes, sir. I am well, quite well. I am going to Casterbridge now to get smart collar. We left it there Saturday to be repaired. I am going to Casterbridge, so we'll walk together, said the vicar. Dick gave a hop with one foot to put himself in step with Mr. Maybold, who proceeded, I fancy I didn't see you in church yesterday, Dewey, or were you behind the pier? No, I went to Chamley. Poor John Dunford chose me to be one of his bearers a long time before he died, and yesterday was the funeral. Of course, I couldn't refuse, though he should have liked particularly to have been at home as it was the day of the new music. Yes, you should have been. The musical portion of the service was successful. Very successful indeed, and what is more to the purpose? No ill feelings, whatever was evinced by any of the members of the old choir. They joined in the singing with the greatest goodwill. Twas natural enough that I should want to be there, I suppose, said Dick, smiling a private smile, considering who the organ player was. At this the vicar reddened a little and said, Yes, yes. Though not at all, comprehending Dick's true meaning, who, as he received no further reply, continued hesitatingly, and with another smile denoting his pride as a lover, I suppose you know what I mean, sir. You've heard about me and Miss Day. The red in Maybold's countenance went away. He turned and looked Dick in the face. No, he said constrainedly. I've heard nothing whatever about you and Miss Day. Why, she's my sweetheart, and we're going to be married next mid-summer. We're keeping it rather close just at present because it is a good many months to wait. But it is her father's wish that we don't marry before, and of course we must submit. But the time will soon slip along. Yes, the time will soon slip along. Time glides away every day. Yes. Maybold said these words, but he had no idea of what they were. He was conscious of a cold and sickly thrill throughout him, and all he reasoned was this, that the young creature whose graces had intoxicated him into making the most imprudent resolution of his life was less an angel than a woman. You see, sir, continued the ingenuous Dick, to be better in one sense, I shall by that time be the regular manager of a branch of father's business which we think of start and elsewhere. It has very much increased lately and we expect next year to keep an extra couple horses. We've already our eye on one. Brown as a berry, neck like a rainbow, 15 hands and not a grey hair in her. Offered us at 25 want a crown, and to keep pace with the times I have had some cards printed, and I beg leave to hand you one, sir. Certainly, said the vicar, mechanically taking the card that Dick offered him. I turn in here by Grey's bridge, said Dick. I suppose you go straight on and up town. Yes. Good morning, sir. Good morning, Dewey. Mabled stood still upon the bridge, holding the card as it had been put into his hand, and Dick's footsteps died away towards Durnover Mill. The thickest first voluntary action was to read the card. Dewey and son, Trantas and Hawlears, Melstock, N.B. Furniture, coals, potatoes, live and dead stock, removed to any distance on the shortest notice. Mr. Mabled lent over the parapet of the bridge and looked into the river. He saw, without heeding, how the water came rapidly from beneath the arches, glided down a little steep, then spread itself over a pool in which days, trout and minnows, sported at ease among the long green locks of weed that lay heaving and sinking with their roots towards the current. At the end of ten minutes spent leaning thus, he drew from his pocket the letter to his friend, tore it deliberately into such minute fragments that scarcely two syllables remained in juxtaposition, and sent the whole handful of shreds fluttering into the water. Here he watched them eddy, dart and turn as they were carried downwards towards the ocean, and gradually disappeared from his view. Finally, he moved off and pursued his way at a rapid pace, back again to Melstock vicarage. Nerving himself by a long and intense effort, he sat down in his study and wrote as follows, Dear Miss Day, the meaning of your words, the temptation is too strong, of your sadness and your tears has been brought home to me by an accident. I know today what I did not know yesterday, that you are not a free woman. Why did you not tell me? Why didn't you? Did you suppose I knew? No, had I known my conduct in coming to you as I did would have been reprehensible. But I don't tried you. Perhaps no blame attaches to you, I can't tell. Fancy, though my opinion of you is assailed and disturbed in a way which cannot be expressed, I love you still, and my word to you holds good yet. But will you injustice to an honest man who relies upon your word to him, consider whether, under the circumstances, you can honourably forsake him? Yours ever sincerely, Arthur Maybold. He rang the bell. Tell Charles to take these copy books and this note to the school at once. The maid took the parcel and the letter, and in a few minutes a boy was seen to leave the vicarage gate, with the one under his arm and the other in his hand. The vicar sat with his hand to his brow, watching the lad as he descended church lane, and entered the water-side path which intervened between that spot and the school. Here he was met by another boy, and after a free salutation and pugilistic frisk had passed between the two, the second boy came on his way to the vicarage, and the other vanished out of sight. The boy came to the door, and a note for Mr. Maybold was brought in. He knew the writing. Opening the envelope with an unsteady hand, he read the subjoined words. Dear Mr. Maybold, I have been thinking seriously and sadly through the whole of the night, of the question you put to me last evening and of my answer. The answer, as an honest woman, I had no right to give. It is my nature, perhaps all women, to love refinement of mind and manners, but even more than this, to be ever fascinated with the idea of surroundings more elegant and pleasing than those which have been customary. And you praised me, and praise is life to me. It was alone my sensation that these things which prompted my reply, ambition and vanity they would be called, perhaps they are so. After this explanation, I hope you will generously allow me to withdraw the answer I too hastily gave, and one more request, to keep the meeting of last night and all that pass between us there, for ever a secret. Were it to become known, it would utterly blight the happiness of a trusting and generous man whom I love still, and shall love always. Your sincerely, fancy day. The last written communication that ever passed from the vicar to fancy was a note containing these words only. Tell him everything it is best. He will forgive you. End of Section 27, Recording by Rachel Linton, Bristol, UK The last day of the story is dated just subsequent to that point in the development of the seasons when country people go to bed among nearly naked trees, are lulled to sleep by a fall of rain, and awake next morning among green ones, when the landscape appears embarrassed with the sudden weight and brilliancy of its leaves, when the night jar comes and strikes up for the summer his tune of one note, when the apple trees have bloomed, and the roads and orchard grass become spotted with fallen petals. When the faces of the delicate flowers are darkened, and their heads wade down by the throng of honeybees, which increase their humming till humming is too milder term for the all-pervading sound, and when cuckoos, blackbirds and sparrows that have hitherto been merry and respectful neighbours become noisy and persistent intimates. The exterior of Geoffrey Day's house in Yalbury Wood appeared exactly as was usual at that season, but a frantic barking of the dogs at the back told of unwonted movements somewhere within. Inside the door the eyes beheld a gathering which was a rarity indeed for the dwelling of the solitary wood steward and keeper. About the room were sitting and standing in various gnarled attitudes, our old acquaintance, grandfathers James and Williams, the Tranter, Mr Penny, two or three children including Jimmy and Charlie, besides three or four country ladies and gentlemen from a greater distance who do not require any distinction by name. Geoffrey was seen and heard stamping about the outhouse and among the bushes of the garden, attending to details of daily routine before the proper time arrived for their performance in order that they might be off his hands for the day. He appeared with his shirt sleeves rolled up, his best new nether garments in which he had arrayed himself that morning being temporarily disguised under a weekday apron while these proceedings were in operation. He occasionally glanced at the hives in passing to see if his wife's bees were swarming, ultimately rolling down his shirt sleeves and going indoors, talking to Tranter Dewey while buttoning the wristbands to save time. Next, going upstairs for his best waistcoat and coming down again to make another remark while buttoning that, during the time looking fixedly in the Tranter's face as if he were a looking-glass. The furniture had undergone attenuation to an alarming extent, every duplicate piece having been removed, including the clock by Thomas Wood, Ezekiel Saunders being at last left sole referee in matters of time. Fancy was stationary upstairs receiving her layers of clothes and adornments and answering by short fragments of laughter which had more fidgetedness than mirth in them, remarks that were made from time to time by Mrs. Dewey and Mrs. Penny who were assisting her at the toilet. Mrs. Day having pleaded a queerness in her head as a reason for shutting herself up in an inner bedroom for the whole morning. Mrs.  The conversation just now going on was concerning the bands, the last publication of which had been on the Sunday previous. And how did they sound? Fancy subtly inquired. Very beautiful indeed, said Mrs. Penny. I never heard any sound better. But how? Oh, so natural and elegant, didn't they, Ruben? She cried through the chinks of the unsealed floor to the tranter downstairs. What's that? said the tranter, looking up inquiringly at the floor above him for an answer. Didn't Dick and Fancy sang well when they were called home in church last Sunday, came downwards again in Mrs. Penny's voice. Ah, that they did, my sonnies, especially the first time. There was a terrible whispering piece of work in the congregation, wasn't there, neighbour Penny? said the tranter, taking up the thread of conversation on his own account, and, in order to be heard in the room above, speaking very loud to Mr. Penny, who sat at the distance of three feet from him, or rather less. I never can mind seeing such a whispering as there was, said Mr. Penny, also loudly to the room above, and such sorrowful envy on the maiden's faces. Really, I never did see such envy as there was.  But perhaps, she said, with assumed indifference, it is only because there was no religion going on just then. Oh, no, nothing to do with that. It was because of your high standing in the parish. It was just as if they had one and all caught Dick kissing and calling ye to death. Wasn't it, Mrs. Dewey? Aye, that was. How people will talk about one's doings, Fancy exclaimed. Well, if you make songs about yourself, my dear, you can't blame other people for singing them. Mercy me, how shall I go through it, said the young lady again, but merely to those in the bedroom with a breathing of a kind between a sigh and a pant, round shining eyes and warm face. Oh, you'll get through it well enough, child, said Mrs. Dewey placidly. The edge of the performances took off at the calling home, and once you get up to the chancel and to the church you feel as saucy as you please. I'm sure I felt as brave as a soldier all through the deed, though, of course, I dropped my face and looked modest as was become into a maid. Mind you do that, Fancy. And I walked into the church as quiet as a lamb, I'm sure, subjoined Mrs. Penny. There, you see, Penny is such a little small man, but certainly I was flurried in the inside of me. Well, thinks I. Tis to be and here goes. And do you do the same, say, Tis to be and here goes. Is there such wonderful virtue in Tis to be and here goes, inquired Fancy. Wonderful, don't carry a body through it all, from wedding to churching, if you only let it out with spirit enough. Very well then, said Fancy, blushing, Tis to be and here goes. That's a girl for a husband, said Mrs. Dewey. I do hope he'll come in time, continued the bride-elect, inventing a new cause of a fright, now that the other was demolished. It would be a thousand pities if he didn't come, now you be so brave, said Mrs. Penny. Grandfather James, having overheard some of these remarks, said downstairs with mischievous loudness, I've known some would be weddings when the men didn't come. They've happened not to come before, now certainly, said Mr. Penny, cleaning one of the glasses of his spectacles. Oh, oh, do hear what they're saying downstairs, whispered Fancy. Hush, hush, she listened. They have, haven't they, Geoffrey, continued grandfather James as Geoffrey entered. Have what, said Geoffrey, the men have been known not to come. That they have, said the keeper. I've known times when the wedding had to be put off through his not appearing and being tired of the woman. And another case, I know, was when the man was catched in a man trap crossing Ochre's wood. And the three months had run out before he got well, and the bands had to be published over again. How horrible, said Fancy. They only say it on purpose to tease him, my dear, said Mrs. Dewey. It is quite sad to think what wretched shifts poor maids have been put to, came again from downstairs. You should hear Clark Wilkins, my brother-in-law, tell his experiences in marrying couples these last thirty years. Sometimes one thing, sometimes another.  These things don't happen very often, I know, said Fancy with smoldering uneasiness.  Don't keep on at me so, grandfather James and Mr. Dewey, and all you down there, Fancy broke out, unable to endure any longer. I'm sure I shall die, or do something, if you do. Never you harken to these old chaps, Miss Day, cried Nat Colcombe, the best man who had just entered, and threw his voice up through the chinks of the floor as the others had done. Tis' all right, dick's coming on like a wildfeller, he'll be here in a minute. The hive of bees is mother-goodness for his new garden swarmed, just as he was starting, and he said, I can't afford to lose a stock of bees, no, that I can't. And though I feign would, and Fancy wouldn't wish it on my account, so he just stopped to ting him in and shake him. A genuine wise man, said Geoffrey. To be sure, what a day's work we had yesterday, Mr. Colcombe continued, lowering his voice, as if it were not necessary any longer to include those in the room above among his audience, and selecting a remote corner of his best clean handkerchief for wiping his face. To be sure, things so heavy I suppose, said Geoffrey, as if reading through the chimney window from the far end of the vista. I, said Nat, looking round the room at points from which furniture had been removed, and so awkward to carry too, to the thorn across Dick's garden, in and out Dick's door, up and down Dick's stairs, round and round Dick's chambers till legs were worn to stumps, and Dick is so particular too, and the stores of vitals and drink that lad has laid in. Why, it is enough for Noah's Ark. I'm sure I never wish to see a choicer half dozen of hams than he's got there in his chimney, and the cider I tasted was a very pretty drop indeed. None could desire a prettier cider. They be for the love and the stall docks both. The greedy martils, said Grandfather James. Well, maybe they be, surely, says I. That couple between them have heaped up so much furniture and vitals that anybody would think they were going to take hold of the big end of married life first and begin with a grown-up family. Ah, what a bath of heat we two chaps were in to be sure of getting that furniture in order. I do wish the room below was sealed, said Fancy as the dressing went on. We can hear all they say and do down there. Hark, who's that? exclaimed a small pupil teacher, who also assisted this morning to her great delight. She ran halfway down the stairs and peeped round the banister.  What, said Fancy, see the bridesmaids, they've just a come. Tis wonderful, really, tis wonderful how muslin can be brought to it. There, they don't look a bit like themselves, but like some very rich sisters of theirs that nobody knew they had. Make them come up to me, make them come up, cried Fancy ecstatically, and the four damsels appointed, namely Miss Susan Dewey, Miss Bessie Dewey, Miss Vashti Sniff, and Miss Mercy Omni, surged upstairs and floated along the passage. I wish Dick would come, was again the burden of Fancy. The same instant a small twig and flower from the creeper outside the door flew in at the open window, and a masculine voice said, ready Fancy dearest? Here he is, he is, cried Fancy, tittering spasmodically and breathing as if it were the first time that morning. The bridesmaids crowded to the window and turned their heads in the direction pointed out at which motion eight earrings all swung as one. Not looking at Dick because they particularly wanted to see him, but with an important sense of their duty as obedient ministers of the will of that apotheosized being the bride. He looks very taking, said Miss Vashti Sniff, a young lady who blushed cream colour and wore yellow bonnet ribbons. Dick was advancing to the door in a painfully new coat of shining cloth, primrose coloured waistcoat, hat of the same painful style of newness, and with an extra quantity of whiskers shaved off his face and hair cut to an unwonted shortness in honour of the occasion. Now I'll run down, said Fancy, looking at herself over her shoulder in the glass and flitting off. Oh Dick, she exclaimed, I'm so glad you have come, I knew you would of course, but I thought, oh if you shouldn't, not come Fancy. Het or wet, blow or snow, here come I today. Why, what's possessing your little soul? You never used to mind such things a bit. Ah, Mr Dick, I hadn't hoisted my colours and committed myself then, said Fancy. Tis a pity I can't marry the whole five of you, said Dick, surveying them all round. Laugh the four bridesmaids, and Fancy privately touched Dick and smoothed him down behind his shoulder as if to assure herself that he was there in flesh and blood as her own property. Well, whoever would have thought such a thing, said Dick, taking off his hat, sinking into a chair and turning to the elder members of the company. The latter arranged their eyes and lips to signify that, in their opinion, nobody could have thought such a thing, whatever it was. That might be should have swarmed just then of all times and seasons, continued Dick, throwing a comprehensive glance like a net over the whole auditory. And is a fine swarm, too. I haven't seen such a fine swarm for these ten years. Oh, excellent sign, said Mrs Penny, from the depths of experience. Excellent sign.  And so am I, said the four bridesmaids, with much sympathy. Well, bees can't be put off, observed the inharmonious grandfather James. Marry in a woman is a thing you can do at any moment, but a swarm of bees won't come for the asking. Dick found himself with his hat. I can't think, he said thoughtfully, whatever twas I did to offend Mr Maybold, a man I like so much, too. He rather took to me when he first came and used to think he should like to see me married and that he'd marry me whether the young woman I chose lived in his parish or no. I just hinted to him of it when I put in the bands, but he didn't seem to take kindly to the notion now. So I said no more. I wonder how it was. I wonder, said Fancy, looking into vacancy with those beautiful eyes of hers, too refined and beautiful for a tractor's wife, but perhaps not too good. Altered his mind as folks well, I suppose, said the tractor. Well, my sonnies, there'll be a good strong party looking at us today as we go along. And the body of the church, said Geoffrey, will be lined with females and a row of young fellers' heads as far down as the eyes will be noticed just above the sails of the chancell winders. Ah, you've been through it twice, said Ruben, and well, mid-no. I can put up with it for once, said Dick, or twice either, or a dozen times. Oh, Dick, said Fancy reproachfully. Why, dear, that's nothing, only just a bit of a flourish. You be as nervous as a cat today. And then, of course, went as all over, continued the tractor, we shall march two and two round the parish. Yes, sure, said Mr. Penny, two and two, every man hitched up to his woman, I believe. I never can make a show of myself in that way, said Fancy, looking at Dick to ascertain if he could. I'm agreed to anything you and the company like, my dear, said Mr. Richard Juey heartily. Why, we did when we were married, didn't we, Anne? said the tractor. And so do everybody, my sonnies. And so did we, said Fancy's father. And so did Penny and I, said Mrs. Penny. I wore my best bath-clogs, I remember, and Penny was crossed, because it made me look so tall. Then so did Father and Mother, said Miss Mercy on me. And I mean to come next Christmas, said Knapp, the groomsman vigorously, and looking towards the person of Miss Vashti Snef. Respectable people don't nowadays, said Fancy. Still, since poor Mother did, I will. I, resumed the tractor, was on a white Tuesday when I committed it. Melstock Club walked the same day, and we knew married folk went again round the parish behind them. Everybody used to wear something white at Wittson Tide in them days. My sonnies, I've got the very white trousers that I wore at home in a box now, haven't I, Anne? You had to, like, cut them up for Jimmy, said Mrs. Dewey. And we all, by rights, after doing this parish, to go round higher and lower Melstock, Anne called at Vines, and so work our way hither again across Heath, said Mr. Penny, recovering scent of the matter in hand. Derrim and Viney is a very respectable man, and so is Farmer Kecks, and we ought to show ourselves to them. True, said the Tranter, we ought to go round Melstock to do the thing well. We shall form a very striking object, walking along in rotation, good-name neighbours. That we shall, a proper pretty sight for the nation, said Mrs. Penny. Hello, said the Tranter, suddenly catching sight of a singular human figure standing in the doorway and wearing a long smockfrock of pillowcase cut and of snowy whiteness. Why leaf, whatever does thou do here? I've come to know, if so be, I can come to the wedding. Said leaf, in a voice of timidity. Now leaf, said the Tranter reproachfully, you know we don't want here today. We've got no room for ye leaf. Thomas leaf, Thomas leaf fire upon ye for prying, said old William. I know I've got no head, but I thought if I washed and put on a clean shirt and smockfrock I might just call, said leaf, turning away, disappointed and trembling. Poor feller, said the Tranter, turning to Geoffrey. Suppose we must let him come, his looks are rather against him, and he is terrible silly, but I have never been in jail, and I won't do no harm. Leaf looked with gratitude at the Tranter for these praises, and then anxiously at Geoffrey to see what effect they would have in helping his cause. I let him come, said Geoffrey decisively. Leaf thou welcome as no, and leaf accordingly remained. They were now all ready for leaving the house, and began to form a procession in the following order. Fancy and her father, Dick and Susan Dewey, Nat Culcomb and Vashti Sniff, Ted Waywood and Mercy On Me, and Jimmy and Bessie Dewey. These formed the executive, and all appeared in strict wedding attire. Then came the Tranter and Mrs. Dewey, and last of all Mr. and Mrs. Penny. The Tranter conspicuous by his enormous gloves, size eleven and three-quarters, which appeared at a distance like boxing gloves bleached, and sat rather awkwardly upon his brown hands. This hallmark of respectability having been set upon himself today by Fancy's special request for the first time in his life. The proper way is for the bridesmaids to walk together, suggested Fancy. What? It was always young man and young woman arm and crook in my time, said Jeffrey astounded. And in mine, said the Tranter. And in ours, said Mr. and Mrs. Penny. Never heard of such a thing as woman and woman, said old William, who with Grandfather James and Mrs. Day was to stay at home. Whichever way you and the company like, my dear, said Dick, who being on the point of securing his right to Fancy, seemed willing to renounce all other rights in the world with the greatest pleasure. The decision was left to Fancy. Well, I think I'd rather have it the way Mother had it, she said, and the couples moved along under the trees every man to his maid. Ah, said Grandfather James to Grandfather William as they retired. I wonder which she thinks most about, Dick or her wedding-raiment. Well, tis their nature, said Grandfather William. Remember the words of the Prophet Jeremiah. Can a maid forget her ornaments or a bride her attire? Now among dark perpendicular furs like the shafted columns of a cathedral, now through a hazel copse matted with primroses and wild hyacinths, now under broad beaches in bright young leaves, they threaded their way into the high road over Yalbury Hill, which dipped at that point directly into the village of Geoffrey Day's parish. And in the space of a quarter of an hour, Fancy found herself to be Mrs Richard Dewey, though, much to her surprise, feeling no other than Fancy Day still. On the circuitous return walk through the lanes and fields, amid much chattering and laughter, especially when they came to Stiles, Dick discerned a brown spot, far up a turnip field. Why, tis Enoch, he said to Fancy. I thought I'd missed him at the house this morning. How is it he's left you? He drank too much cider and it got into his head, and they put him in weather-brief stocks for it. Father was obliged to get somebody else for a day or two, and Enoch hasn't had anything to do with the woods since. We might ask him to call down tonight. Stocks are nothing for once, considering tis our wedding day. The bridal party was ordered to halt. Enoch cried Dick at the top of his voice. Yes, said Enoch from the distance. Do you know who I be? No, Dick Dewey. Oh, just a married. Oh, this is my wife, Fancy, holding her up to Enoch's view as if she had been a nose-gay. Oh, will ye come to the party tonight? Can't. Why not? Don't work for the family now. Not nice of Master Enoch, said Dick as they resume their walk. You mustn't blame him, said Geoffrey. The man's not his self now. He's in his morning frame of mind. When he's at a gallon of cider or ale, or a pint or two and mead, the man's well enough, and his manners be as good as anybody's in the kingdom. End of Section Twenty-Eight Recording by Rachel Linton, Bristol, UK Section Twenty-Nine of Under the Greenwood Tree This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Under the Greenwood Tree by Thomas Hardy Part Five, Chapter Two, Under the Greenwood Tree The point in Yalbury Wood, which are buttered on the end of Geoffrey Day's premises, was closed with an ancient tree, horizontally of enormous extent, though having no great pretensions to height. Many hundreds of birds had been born amidst the boughs of this single tree. Tribes of rabbits and hares had nibbled at its bark from year to year. Quaint tufts of fungi had sprung from the cavities of its forks, and countless families of moles and earthworms had crept about its roots. Beneath and beyond its shade, spread a carefully tended grass plot. Its purpose being to supply a healthy exercise ground for young chickens and pheasants, the hens, their mothers, being enclosed in coops, placed upon the same green flooring. All these encumbrances were now removed, and as the afternoon advanced, the guests gathered in the spot where music, dancing, and the singing of songs went forward with great spirit throughout the evening. The propriety of everyone was intense by reason of the influence of fancy, who as an additional precaution in this direction had strictly charged her father and the tranter to carefully avoid saying, thee and thou in their conversation, on the plea that those ancient words sounded so very humiliating to persons of newer taste, also that they were never to be seen drawing the back of the hand across the mouth after drinking, a local English customer of extraordinary antiquity, but stated by fancy to be decidedly dying out among the better classes of society. In addition to the local musicians present, a man who had a thorough knowledge of the tambourine was invited from the village of Tantrum Clangley, a place long celebrated for the skill of its inhabitants as performers on instruments of percussion. These important members of the assembly were relegated to a height of two or three feet from the ground upon a temporary erection of planks supported by barrels. Whilst the dancing progressed, the older persons sat in a group under the trunk of the tree, the space being allotted to them somewhat grudgingly by the young ones who were greedy of pirueting room and fortified by a table against the heels of the dancers. Here the gaffers and gammas, whose dancing days were over, told stories of great impressiveness and at intervals surveyed the advancing and retiring couples from the same retreat as people on shore might be supposed to survey a naval engagement in the bay beyond, returning again to their tales when the pause was over. Those of the whirling throng who during the rest between each figure turned their eyes in the direction of these seated ones were only able to discover, on account of the music and bustle, that a very striking circumstance was in course of narration, denoted by an emphatic sweep of the hand, snapping of the fingers, close of the lips, and fixed look into the center of the listener's eye for the space of a quarter of a minute, which raised in that listener such a reciprocating working of face as to sometimes make the distant dancers half-wish to know what such an interesting tale could refer to. Fancy caused her looks to wear as much matronly expression as was obtainable out of six hours experience as a wife, in order that the contrast between her own state of life and that of the unmarried young women present might be duly impressed upon the company. Occasionally, stealing glances of admiration at her left hand, but this quite privately, for her ostensible bearing concerning the matter was intended to show that, though she undoubtedly occupied the most wondrous position in the eyes of the world that had ever been attained, she was almost unconscious of the circumstance, and that the somewhat prominent position in which that wonderfully emblazoned left hand was continually found to be placed when handing cups and saucers, knives, forks, and glasses was quite the result of accident. As to wishing to excite envy in the bosoms of her maid and companions, by the exhibition of the shining ring, everyone was to know it was quite foreign to the dignity of such an experienced married woman. Dick's imagination in the meantime was far less capable of drawing so much wantedness from his new condition. He had been for two or three hours trying to feel himself merely a newly married man, but had been able to get no further in the attempt than to realise that he was Dick Dewey, the Trantas son, at a party given by Lord Wessex's head man in charge on the outlying Yalbury estate, dancing and chatting with Fancy Day. Five country dances including Haste to the Wedding, Two Reels and Three Fragments of Horn Pipes brought them to the time for supper, which on account of the dampness of the grass from the immaturity of the summer season, was spread indoors. At the conclusion of the meal, Dick went out to put the horses in, and Fancy, with the elder half of the four bridesmaids, retired upstairs to dress for the journey to Dick's new cottage near Melstock. How long will you be putting on your bonnet, Fancy? Dick inquired at the foot of the staircase. Being now a man of business and married, he was strong on the importance of time and doubled the emphasis of his words in conversing and added vigor to his nods. Only a minute. How long is that? Well, dear, five. Ah, sonnies, said the Tranter as Dick retired, tis a talent of the female race that low numbers should stand for high, more especially in matters of waiting, matters of age and matters of money. True, true upon my body, said Geoffrey. He's back with feeling, Geoffrey, seemingly, anybody that to know my experience might guess that. What's she doing now, Geoffrey? Cleaning out all the upstairs drawers and cupboards and dusting, the second best Cheney, a thing that's only done once a year. If there's work to be done, I must do it, says she, wedding or no. Tis my belief, she's a very good woman at bottom. She's terrible deep, then. Mrs Penny turned round. Well, tis humps and hollers with the best of us, but still and for all that, Dick and Fancy stand as fair a chance of having a bit of sunshine as any married pair in the land. Aye, there's no gain saying it. Mrs Dewey came up, talking to one person and looking at another. Happy, yes, she said, tis always so when a couple is so exactly in tune with one another as Dick and she. When they bent be too poor to have time to sing, said Grandfather James. I tell ye, neighbours, when the pinch comes, said the tranter, when the oldest daughter's boots be only a size less than her mother's and the rest of the flock close behind her. A sharp time for a man that, my sonny's, a very sharp time. Chanticleer's comb is a cut, then, I believe. That's about the format, said Mr Penny. That'll put the stunts upon a man when you must measure mother and daughter's lasts to tell them apart. You've no cause to complain, Ruben, of such a close coming flock, said Mrs Dewey, for hours was a straggling lot enough, God knows. I don't know it, I don't know it, said the tranter. You be a well enough woman, Anne. Mrs Dewey put her mouth in the form of a smile and put it back again without smiling. And if they come together, they go together, said Mrs Penny, whose family had been the reverse of the tranters, and a little money will make either fate tolerable and money can be made by our young couple, I know. Yes, that it can, said the impulsive voice of Leaf, who had hitherto humbly admired the proceedings from a corner. It can be done. All that's wanted is a few pounds to begin with. That's all. I know a story about it. Let's hear thy story, Leaf, said the tranter. I never knew you were clever enough to tell a story. Silence, all of you, Mr Leaf will tell a story. Tell your story, Thomas Leaf, said Grandfather William in the tone of a schoolmaster. Once, said the delighted Leaf in an uncertain voice, there was a man who lived in a house. Well, this man went thinking and thinking night and day. At last, he said to himself, as I might, if I had only ten pounds, I'd make a fortune. At last, by hook or by crook, behold, he got the ten pounds. Only think of that, said Nat Cal, comes satirically. Silence, said the tranter. Well, now comes the interesting part of the story. In a little time, he made that ten pounds twenty. Then a little time after that, he doubled it and made it forty. Well, he went on, and a good well after that, he made it eighty and on to a hundred. Well, by and by, he made it two hundred. Well, you'd never believe it, but he went on and made it four hundred. He went on, and what did he do? Why, he made it eight hundred. Yes, he did, continued Leaf in the highest pitch of excitement, bringing down his fist upon his knee with such a force that he quivered with the pain. Yes, and he went on and made it a thousand. Here, here, said the tranter. Better than the history of England, my sonnies. Thank you for your story, Thomas Leaf, said Grandfather William, and then Leaf gradually sank into nothingness again. Amid a medley of laughter, old shoes and elder wine, Dick and his bride took their departure, side by side in the excellent new spring cart which the young tranter now possessed. The moon was just over the full, rendering any light from lamps or their own beauties quite unnecessary to the pair. They drove slowly along Yalbury bottom, where the road passed between two copses. Dick was talking to his companion. Fancy, he said. Why we're so happy is because there is such full confidence between us. Ever since that time you confessed that little flirtation was shinier by the river, which was really no flirtation at all, I have thought how artless and good you must be to tell me is such a trifling thing, and to be so frightened about it as you were. It has won me to tell you my every deed and word since then. We'll have no secrets from each other, darling, will we ever? No secret at all. None from today, said Fancy. Haak, what's that? From a neighbouring thicket was suddenly heard to issue an allowed musical and liquid voice. Tippy wit, sweet, key, come hither, come hither, come hither. Oh, it is the Nightingale, murmured she, and thought of a secret she would never tell. End of Under the Greenwood Tree by Thomas Hardy, recording by Rachel Linter in Bristol, UK.


All right, new version. Let's check this out. Yeah, it's very cool. I'll like it. Let me check. You said something about the camera around here ish. I'm not seeing Anything that is wrong. I like how the character leads the camera all this time here. That's cool. That's cool That's cool. Same thing here Probably delay camera because it goes up with the character Pretty much the same time and it's okay. I mean, it's a cool shape But it's okay to also just quickly break frame like this and then catch up here Totally fine. Not that it's crazy tell when you watch it. It's okay because it's so fast and snappy. It's not too bad You could also just delay by a frame or two. I know it sounds super picky, but it's just a thought This makes me hungry Cool though. Let's go back Pose wise. It's also cool It's so fast that I think it's okay. I was gonna say here You can even have a slight move over so that there's more separation in the legs here Between the shin and the pants here, but it's so fast. It's pretty clear It's not too shabby Well, it's a little bit of color change there, but it could be something to do like here It's nice that be super picky this line goes right there with that shoe is forming a line tangent I will probably cheat that ring that foot lower Although this is a nice combined line. That's okay. It's gonna save and separate the foot But this actually creates a nice simplified line that I will keep I love this here with the arms Really nice shapes. They're really fun. Yeah, it's really fun to go in there frame by frame watching this Goes up here. This is something that I will probably tweak was If you look at this, right, it's all free jumping not holding on to anything except here and this doesn't quite read as As a whole like what is he doing here? He gets his hands up here But then they go right underneath Into this and since you're really stretching I think it might be okay to just keep that hand cupped over here Even this could be slightly over there a hand right and then you stretch out arms Even here you could see how fast is he It's pretty fast. I think it might just be okay to stretch and extend arms.  I like that. There's just enough of pause To sense the weight and hold Getting given the speed. I think it's okay. It could be fun to experiment with this leg while it's out It's here and then here. It's actually further out and then here it might Even still be out. What is the right one? So even that might be too crazy, but out here and then Maybe maybe still out here Then he gets on there hold hold hold into push just so there's a little bit of a since we're dragging it here A little bit of a swing back in I think that could be fun as a read for a shape. It looks like we're cutting out soon What's going at the end here? Hold on? Okay, nothing. Okay. I thought it's like a weird off friend there Super cool you mentioned you left the crazy frames at the end It really is a personal preference and The funny thing is now that I've seen it before and I'm watching this again It doesn't bother me anymore just because of like this this just sets the groundwork of oh Okay, this is this is the word we live in this is stretchy and Now we're going into another one. I think it's okay to be honest. I will say I know what Drove me to the previous critique and I think it's fine now one of those things. I Think it's fine. I Also liked that you have a slight delay here that it's not completely In what those arms are doing, but there's a little bit of a hole into that settle Like the lines in your body here and I remember at the end here Just enough change Happy picky This feels like we're going pretty much straight up and down on that route and what you could do is since he is Leaning this way right he's towards what he wants and then you can have a Up where the route goes up a bit to the left and then the settle is more on Lean over this way. So he might just be you know, this knee might be here. This might be here or her With a slight broader lean over just in a way Emphasizing that That's what he wants to have and now he's not interested anymore. So now he's leaning away from me I mean he's keeping he's growing the distance between what he wanted before because he's disengaged basically Instead of just having a up and down as a patient for that settle there having it doesn't have to be much Right, so a little bit to the left. Watch out. I see some jitter here. It's a little bit of a wobble jitter and this Fingers are cool Just like offset there. I like that a little settle there at the end Yeah, it's all very cool. I think the biggest thing to me to to quote-unquote fix is This is number two and this will be Number one I'm gonna be honest. There's something that that reads as odd and it's probably for me. It's we're going this way And then we're having this here That's the path and whoa, it's only we're going higher And it's just it's such a lead into well the next frame will be here like here and he's here That's I think that's what was reacting it for seven or what? Oh, what is that a weird cut? What's going on there and watching this again? Is it there's an odd Bump there and I would say that pretty much that it's really really nice Nice and fluid. I mean you always do great work. It's always so much fun to see your work Yeah, that's up for me. Thank you. All right There's an email you can sign up you can start whenever you want you can submit whatever you want You get 16 submissions either way a like and subscribe would be awesome. All right. Thank you


I'm the Comic Weekly Man, the Jolly Comic Weekly Man. And I'm here to read the funnies to you happy boys and honeys. Yes, boys and girls, it's comic weekly time.  Right out of the pages of Puck the Comic Weekly, straight into your living room, your friend, the Comic Weekly Man, the Jolly Comic Weekly Man. Well, a little miss honey, how are you today? I'm just fine, and I've got a riddle. I'm just fine too, so tell me the riddle. Six girls. Well, the girls were small, and the umbrella was big. No. Lorraine came straight down on the umbrella, and the umbrella was right over their heads. No. Hmm. All right, I give up. Why? It wasn't me. Oh, that was a trick riddle. Now I've got one for you. What? What runs around all day and lays down at night with his tongue hanging out?  No. Some other kind of a dog? Nope. All right then, what is it? Your shoe. Oh, that's funny. The tongue of the shoe hangs funny. Puck the Comic Weekly. Very well, I'll read that in just a moment, but before I do, let's listen to this nice man. Now here we go with Puck the Comic Weekly, and on the bottom of the first page, Hopalong Cassidy. Magic words for the music, please. Very well, my lady. Six guns blazing as he thunders along. Give us music for Hopalong. Hopi, trying to find out who has been selling guns to the Indians, has followed a trail which leads him to a river town called Pike's Landing. After considerable trouble with the folks in town, Hopi, California, and Lucky are talking to the Marshal of the territory, a man whose job is much like a sheriff. First picture the Marshal is saying to Hopi, well, you can't blame Meeker for demanding your arrest at the riverboat freight office. After ever since smugglers have been supplying guns to the Indians in this area, there's been bad feeling towards strangers. Hopi replies, yes, since after you get worse, if the cargo listing I saw on that freight office means anything to Marshal, the last steamer brought in a shipment of bailed hay to go to the timber ridge logging camp. In California, it adds last picture top row. Yeah, and that's where we'll find the smugglers' rifles. The Marshal reaching for his rifle says, and we better find them before those redskins do. Get to your horses. Miles from their starting point, last picture middle row, they arrive at a river. The Marshal waves his companions to a halt. First picture bottom row, the Marshal points at a hill across the river. Well, the logging camp overlooks this creek from the top of that ridge. Hopi says, we better follow the creek. It'll hide our approach. Meanwhile, in the logging camp above, a crew of men are busy hiding the shipment of rifles in hollow logs. When the rifles have been put in the hollow of the log, the tree bark is put back on top, covering it so the log looks quite natural. The man directing the activities walks along saying, we can use some of that engine gold, man. Now get those rifles stowed, and on their way to iron claws camp before somebody shows up here. And then the logs are put in a chute and are slayed down to the river below. Last picture, the Marshal hopi and his pals in a grove of trees stand watching. The Marshal looks at the logs floating down the river and says, just a mess of timber. I don't see anything to get hat up about. Yes, I think that's the idea. Well, I'm so they can use them against the white man. So do I. We'll find out whether Hopi can stop this next week. Now? Oh, let's turn these. Yes, and I know you're anxious to read that, so we won't waste a second. Here we go with Dagwood and Blondie. Ram-a-foo-ram-a-fum-sim-sem-zombie. Can't you be music for Dagwood and Blondie? Dagwood is relaxing with the paper when Blondie rushes in. Blondie phones that he's bringing his girlfriend, Julia, over to meet us. Dagwood exclaims. Well, why get so excited about that? Look at the house. Look how you look. Come on. She jerks the paper away from him, yanks him out of the chair, and shoves the vacuum cleaner into his hand as Dagwood dashes around the room. Last picture, top row, she yells. We've got to. First picture, second row, as she polishes the table, she says. We mustn't. We mustn't. We mustn't. Second picture, second row, she orders. Last picture, second row, she shoves Dagwood into the bathroom. Now hurry, yes. Dagwood answers. But I wasn't going to shave until tomorrow. Little later, with a clean shirt and a fresh tie-on, Dagwood settles down on the chair to relax. Blondie dashes down the stairs. First picture, third row. It's a fun walk. At that moment, outside the door, Alexander is saying. Well, come on, Julia. I don't want to. Oh, come on, Julia. No, I don't want to. Oh, come on. You like my father and mother. They're real nice. Oh, come on, Julia.  First picture, bottom row, the door opens. And Alexander walks into the house alone. Dagwood stares at him in surprise. Alexander says. And what's the matter, Pop? You look weird. Well, where's the young lady? We're going to bring home to meet us. Oh, she got mad and went home. Dagwood goes and then grabs Alexander by the neck. Pulls him over his lap and starts to spank him. Last picture. Blondie looks at Dagwood in horror and says. Dagwood. Dagwood shouts, I'll spank him when he's 40 years old. If he pulls a stunt like that again. He wouldn't spank Alexander because it wasn't Alexander's fault. No, it really wasn't. It was that silly bashful girl. Yes, I think girls are silly when they're bashful. Yes, and I know a couple are silly without being bashful. Well, that does happen sometimes. Yes, sometimes. Now? Oh, look across the page. There's Prince Valiant. Oh, yes, there he is. And do you remember what happened before? Bolta, a wild pirate of the sea, had captured a ship and plundered it, and that was against the new rules. Yes, you see, King Agwar had signed a treaty with Sir Gawain, agreeing that no more ships would be plundered in the waters between their two islands. But Bolta did it anyway, and so to punish him, they locked him up. But then a very silly telecom, who's one of the maids to Princess Alita, helped Bolta to escape. Yes, she helped him get out of his cell and led him to a boat, and he finally made his way to the open sea. But there was something in the bottom of the boat, and I wonder what that is. Well, here we go to find out now with Prince Valiant and the days of King Arthur. Hackett, Brackett, Gray, Malkin, and Quince, music romantic for a fair, fair prince. Bolta had been placed under heavy guard to await his punishment for plundering the ship of Sir DeLuc. In the morning, the guards discover that he's gone. Search parties comb the riverbank for his body, and then it's discovered that a boat is missing. Last picture top row, mounted men I sent on the long road to the mouth of the river where Bolta ship lay. It's hard to believe that Bolta could have piloted his little boat through the wild waters and cataracts of the river. But by a miracle of skill, Bolta has survived the perils of the tumbling river. And even before he rounds the last bend, first picture next row, his men can hear the roar of his voice calling them to their posts. They all jump to their stations as Bolta pulls the little boat up beside his ship. As he picks up the bundle from the bottom of his boat and climbs aboard, last picture second row, over the rail they tumble with their weapons, water skins, and such provisions as they can snatch up. Shields are hung over the rail. The long oars are shipped, and men are standing by to raise the anchor. And then, first picture bottom row, Bolta lays the bundle carefully on the deck, unties it, and when the wrapping is off, we see him. Tilikum, the Indian woman who had helped him escape. Bolta stands up. Tilikum arises quietly, rubbing the circulation back into her manum-darms. Her dark eyes fixed on his, holding them. She moves slowly toward him. Bolta says to himself, well, at last. Now that I've shown her who is master, she's going to surrender. She's mine. Her hands go out toward him slowly.  Yes, I can't understand why. Neither can I, because you remember last week she looked at him with the look of love when he was going to leave. I just think she's mad because he kidnapped her. Maybe she thinks she should be loyal to Alita. Oh, I'll bet that because Bolta won't let her be loyal. But we'll find out about this next week. This is a very strange woman. Yes, this is a very strange woman. Well, now let's turn over the page and see who's next. Oh, look, a curtain. Yes, let's read that right now. And this I'm so anxious to see because, you remember, Flash was on the planet Mars where the queen meant to have tried to make him a slave prisoner. Yes, but Flash succeeded in escaping and had captured the queen and taken her along with him.   But Flash turned on the exhaust of the sand car and aimed it at the wall of sand and started the motor. The hot flame that came out of the exhaust burned a hole through and they saw daylight ahead of them. Now please read and let's see what they found when they escaped. Very well. Here we go with Flash Gordon. Orega rega dune dunes, ask him a task. Let's have music for heroic flash. Escaping from their Martian captors in the sand car with Queen Menta as a hostage, Flash and his party are caught in an ice blizzard which buries them under a frozen sand dune. As a last desperate measure, Flash turns the car's rocket exhaust upward and manages to blast a tunnel to freedom. And last picture top row as they make their way toward the spaceport where Flash's rocket is guarded, Flash warns the Martian queen not to send a thought message to her slaves for help, promising to free her if she makes no hostile move. And he adds grimly, I take heat, Menta. Try to thwart our escape and we'll carry you to Earth as our prisoner. After a long tiresome walk through the desert sands of Mars, first picture bottom row, they reach the spaceport. Boldly, Flash approaches his ship. Menta follows Dossily, but suddenly two guards appear. One of them whips out a ray gun. With a lightning motion, Flash draws his own gun and blasts the pistol from the guard's hand before the start of Martian knows what happened to him. Flash commands, all right, stand back. One false move and your queen's life is forfeit. The guards stop helplessly. Quickly, Flash orders his party into the rocket ship. Flash presses the starting button, but the jets won't fire. Last picture, Menta tells him that she had, by telegraphing her thoughts to her men, ordered them to remove the atom fuel. And she tells him to hand over his guns quietly and she might lessen his punishment for kidnapping the queen of Mars. Yes, after all of Flash's plans, the queen has outsmarted him. Well, Flash ordered. Well, that's something we'll find out next week. Now? Now could we capture that man Norton, who had stepped into the cabin with his gun in his hand? Well, let's go over the page past Buzz Sawyer, go across to the next page, turn over page seven, and there, at the bottom of page eight, is Roy Rogers. Oh, gritty. And I'll read that in just a moment. But first, here's that nice man again with something interesting to say. Now here we go again with Puck the Comic Weekly. And at the bottom of page eight, Roy Rogers, King of the Cowboys. Magic words for the music, please. Very well, my lady. I yip-pio. Now here we go with Roy in trigger. I yip-pio. Carp Mallory has joined forces with Roy and his friends. After Norton, leader of the Crooks, had tried to kill him. Norton steps into the smoking cabin, gun in hand.  Roy, hiding behind the door, leaps at him and knocks the gun out of his hand. Norton exclaims, Roy Rogers, I thought the explosion in the mine finished you and your pals. Mallory gets up from the floor saying, third picture. Yeah, let me fix the double cross and pull cat for dry gulching me. Me, his own side gig. Seeing it's a trap, Norton gives Roy a shove. As Roy snubbles over Mallory, Norton runs for the door, last picture top row. A lot came her outside the cabin. First picture bottom row exclaims, Hey, look, Fred, it's Norton.  Swat knocks the gun down saying, Nope, Roy says he wants him alive. Besides, he won't get far. I loosened the cinch on a saddle. Suddenly, the saddle slips sideways, and Norton falls to the ground. Roy, who has come out of the cabin, runs for him. Leaps at him and knocks him over. Norton whines third picture bottom row.  Roy answers, don't worry. You got a lot of explaining to do first, Norton, to a judge. Some time later, Jack Spratt, who is a deputy sheriff, has locked up Mallory and Norton, and is once again at his favorite business of eating last picture. Roy is once again mounted on trigger, preparing to hit the trail. Blotkramer says to him, well, I got my property back. And they cleared me of all them phony wrestling and killing charges that Norton tried to pin on me. Thanks, Rogers.  Roy looks around saying, well, I'd know that voice anywhere. Another adventure. It always turns out that way. I have a hunch that you've got a good hunch yourself. Yes, captured that Norton because he was a mean one. Yes, you bet he was. Now next week, we look forward to a new adventure with Roy Rogers. Now? Now, could we please read Alice in Wonderland next? I just love Alice. Well, let's find out. Go over the page, past page 9. Go past Perry Mason and the Lone Ranger on page 10. And there on page 11 is Alice in Wonderland. Oh, yes, a garden. And she found three cards painting the white rose bushes red. Yes, and then the queen came parading through the garden with her army of cards behind her. And when she saw the white roses paint red, she yelled. Red. Yes. And she was furious. And now, let's see what she does next. Very well, here we go with Alice in Wonderland. Say the magic words with me. And now for a story that gets curiouser and curiouser. Alice in Wonderland. So music, sir, music, sir. When the queen discovers it was the three cards of paint of the white roses red, she thunders off with her heads. And the three hapless card gardeners are hauled away. As they're taken away to be punished, Alice tries to tell the queen that they were only trying to be nice. The queen thunders, quiet, do you play croquet? Alice tells her that she does. Whereupon, third picture, the little king shouts, croquet game, king's orders. The little white rabbit brings the croquet mallets. And when they're drawn out of the bag, they turn out to be flamingos, a long, skinny bird with a hook neck. The queen holds hers by the feet as hedgehogs roll themselves up to be balls. And other cards bend themselves over to be wickets. And in last picture top row, the curious croquet game gets underway as the queen prepares to hit the first hedgehog through the first wicket. She shouts, silence. Carefully, she lifts her flamingo over her head. Then first picture bottom row, unseen by all except Alice, the Cheshire cat appears. And as the queen swings back, she hooks the flamingo's beak under her skirt. And he says, there's no big loads of fire. Alice gasps. The queen completes her mighty swing and yanks herself into an inglorious heap. She hits the ground with a thundering crash. She leaps to her feet and thinking Alice is to blame for this, she shouts, your head will roll for this. The little king answers, my dear, couldn't we have a trial first? Just a little trial. Last picture as guards march Alice off to the courtroom in the castle. The queen roars, well, well then, let's the trial begin. The Cheshire cat plays. Yes. And just think that. Yes. I wonder if they'll free her at the trial. Well, that's something we'll find out next week. And I'm sure it'll be a very strange trial. Oh, I'm sure too. Now? Oh, now it's time to read Dick's adventures, isn't it? I think you're right. And you'll find that Dick is on the very last page. So let's turn over. All right. Yes, here. He was at a fur trading post in the early days of America. Yes, and he met two famous men, Captain Lewis and Captain Clark. You said new adventures would begin. So quick read. Let's find out about that now. Very well. Here we go with Dick's adventures. Say the magic words with me. Riggity-pack-ca-zack-ca-zick. That's some music for adventurous Dick. Dick polishes his gun first picture, as he says to himself. Boy, am I in luck. Gosh, here I am going on one of the world's most famous exploring expeditions, back when Thomas Jefferson was president, right after we got the Louisiana Territory. And then he goes to join Capt. Lewis and Clark, who he sees approaching. They're talking to a couple of upstream trappers and Indians. Last picture, top row, who are telling them that the spring floods have swept the Missouri River clear of ice, which means that boats can travel in the river. At this news, at the encampment just outside the front of village of St. Louis, activity mounts to fever pitch, for this means the expedition can begin. Leaders of the expedition are two able young army captains, Maryweather Lewis and William Clark, both born in Virginia, and old friends and comrades in arms. Dick studies them first picture, next row, as he watches them going over their maps. Clark, Dick guesses, is genial, fluff and practical. Lewis seems moody, jumpy, quick, a scientist as well as a soldier. Until recently, Lewis was presidential private secretary to Jefferson. Last picture, second row, provisions are taken aboard the boats that are to go down the broad river. The men numbering 40 odd are hunters, scouts, soldiers and skilled workmen. The goal of the expedition is to cross the vast unmapped territory lying west of the Mississippi in north of Mexico, over the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific. The first leg of the 4,000 mile exploration will follow the Missouri up to its source. First picture, bottom row, on the eve of departure, Dick is given a message to deliver to a famous address. Last picture, Dick mounted on his horse, waits at the river, and at the crack of dawn of a high bluff overlooking the junction of the mighty Mississippi with the sullen mud, the mudstain Missouri. Dick sees that the barge has started, and he races on to rejoin the expedition later. The expedition has started, isn't it? Yes, now the adventure begins. Travel through Indian country, across mountains and rivers, and building new forts, oh, lots of exciting things. What are you supposed to deliver? And why can't he go along with them now? That's something we'll find out about next week. Oh, I just love these stories about Dick in the early days of America. So do I. And now look underneath Dick's adventures is Rusty Riley. Oh, yes, and I, Mr. Miles and Tex were expecting a girl named Vivian to come to their farm. And instead, it turned out to be a boy. Yes, only he didn't come to the farm. He came speeding down the highway in a little roadster 90 miles an hour. And the state cop arrested him and took him to jail. Yes, and Mr. Miles went to the jail to try to get him out. Let's see what happens next. All right, here we go with Rusty Riley. Gallop and run till the road is dusty. Give his music for his horse and Rusty. Mr. Miles walks from the sergeant over to Vivian, who says, well, what gives? You square the ramp with that hip cop? Mr. Miles replies, no, my boy, I merely had you released in my custody with my promise to have you in court when your case comes up. He introduces Vivian to Tex. This is my superintendent, Tex Purdy. He'll take you out to milestone, Vivian. I have some business in town. I'll talk to you later. Vivian follows Tex out of the police station, third picture, and he says, ah, good night.  He can't even fix a traffic ticket. Tex replies, ah, son, a real big shot. Don't throw his weight around. He don't break the law, and he don't hold with winking at them that does. First picture, bottom row, Tex and Vivian enter the living room of the Miles farmhouse. Tex introduces Vivian to Patty and Rusty, who exclaims, hey, Jeepers, he's a boy. Vivian answers, yeah, sure I'm a boy. No cracks about my name, either. As Rusty leads him to his room, Rusty says, oh, gee whiz, I wasn't going to kid you about your name. Well, it's just that we were expecting a girl. OK, Rusty, I didn't mean to blow my top. It's only that most people don't know that Vivian is a boy's name as well as a girl's, at least not here in America. They go into the bedroom. Vivian tosses a suitcase to the floor. Rusty sits in the bed. Any questions? Well, aren't you an American? Vivian replies, sure I am, because Mr. Smith adopted me. You see, my real dad, well, his name was Vivian, too. He was English. He died in the war. Meanwhile, about 50 miles west in a hotel, a strange-looking Englishman with a walrus mustache is talking to his friend, a slinky-looking individual. Sir Percival says, oh, my dear Nabe, our casual meeting with that kid with the hot rod is going to get us in as guests at Miles Stone Farm. Nabe answers, and I suppose you'll be, sir, Percival and I'll be, as usual. Last picture, sir Percival goes on. Yes, Nabe. Our usual professional item today is we're half afraid to Lexington and invest our sadly depleted capital in a rented car. His father died in the war. Yes, it is. Maybe that's why Vivian isn't as nice a boy as he ought to be, because he hasn't had a father, and maybe he was adopted too late by Mr. Smith. Yes, that could be. I wonder what Mr. Sir Percival and that man Nabe are up to. They're trying to find a way to get into the Miles Stone Farm. And my guess is that people who tried again to replace the way they're trying haven't got very good intentions. And my guess is they haven't very good intentions either. Well, we'll find out more about that next week. Now, that's all the time I have for now. But before I go, here's that fellow with some more interesting information. Well, honey and all you boys and girls, I got to go now. All right, Mr. Comic Weekly Man, but I'll be waiting for you next week. OK, that's a date.  Be sure to meet me with our little friend Miss Honey next week when I read Pop the Comic Weekly. For I'm the Comic Weekly Man, the Jolly Comic Weekly Man. I'll be back to read the funnies to you happy boys and honeys. Don't forget, boys and girls, see you all next week. You're friends the Comic Weekly Man, the Jolly Comic Weekly Man.


Salamanders in the U.S. are threatened by newly discovered kitchard fungus and the husband and wife team are studying ways to protect them. Professors Deb Miller and Matt Gray run the Amphibian Disease Laboratory at the University of Tennessee. The Appalachian Mountain Region is one of the world's biodiversity hotspots for salamanders. The 60 species that live in the Misty Mountain Forest play a crucial role in the ecosystem by eating insects such as mosquitoes. It is a fungus that seems to prefer salamander skin. We don't know why, but we are finding that it can attack frog skin as well. Skin is probably the most important organ in an amphibian's body. It's so important because some salamanders don't even have lungs. And so the skin is a major source for respiration for them. So the name is Salamander Vorens, which literally means it eats the salamander. So it destroys the skin. The skin is no longer there, but you have this coating of fungus. And at that point it's not giving any protection and the animal shuts down and dies. Over the last few years, salamander and frog populations around the world have started to decline and even go extinct because of the fungus. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service passed a moratorium on the importation of salamanders that could serve as possible host to be sal. And so that actually occurred in 2016. It was around 200 species of salamanders. So that was a good kind of first step. We now, however, have learned that B-sal can live on frogs, can infect frogs and even kill some frogs. 95% of the trade is frogs. So the threat is not gone. In fact, it's probably still there and probably still very real. They're studying how the fungus affects the skin and are developing strategies to reduce its spread, like lowering the density of salamanders in a pod system, sort of like physical distancing to reduce the spread of the coronavirus. They're also looking at fungicides and supplementing the natural microbiome of salamanders to fight off the fungus.