Silas Marner by George Eliot (free children's online books .txt) 📕

The next morning the whole village was excited by the story of the robbery, and Godfrey, like everyone else, was occupied in gathering and discussing news about it, and in visiting the Stone-pits. The rain had washed away all possibility of distinguishing footmarks, but a close investigation of the spot had disclosed, in the direction opposite to the village, a tinderbox, with a flint and steel, half sunk in the mud. It was not Silas’s tinderbox, for the only one he had ever had was still standing on his shelf; and the inference generally accepted was, that the tinderbox in the ditch was somehow connected with the robbery. A small minority shook their heads, and intimated their opinion that it was not a robbery to have much light thrown on it by tinderboxes, that Master Marner’s tale had a queer look with it, and that such things had been known as a man’s doing himself a mischief, and then setting the justice to look for the doer. But when questioned closely as to their grounds for this opinion, and what Master Marner had to gain by such false pretences, they only shook their heads as before, and observed that there was no knowing what some folks counted gain; moreover, that everybody had a right to their own opinions, grounds or no grounds, and that the weaver, as everybody knew, was partly crazy. Mr. Macey, though he joined in the defence of Marner against all suspicions of deceit, also pooh-poohed the tinderbox; indeed, repudiated it as a rather impious suggestion, tending to imply that everything must be done by human hands, and that there was no power which could make away with the guineas without moving the bricks. Nevertheless, he turned round rather sharply on Mr. Tookey, when the zealous deputy, feeling that this was a view of the case peculiarly suited to a parish-clerk, carried it still farther, and doubted whether it was right to inquire into a robbery at all when the circumstances were so mysterious.

“As if,” concluded Mr. Tookey⁠—“as if there was nothing but what could be made out by justices and constables.”

“Now, don’t you be for overshooting the mark, Tookey,” said Mr. Macey, nodding his head aside admonishingly. “That’s what you’re allays at; if I throw a stone and hit, you think there’s summat better than hitting, and you try to throw a stone beyond. What I said was against the tinderbox: I said nothing against justices and constables, for they’re o’ King George’s making, and it ’ud be ill-becoming a man in a parish office to fly out again’ King George.”

While these discussions were going on amongst the group outside the Rainbow, a higher consultation was being carried on within, under the presidency of Mr. Crackenthorp, the rector, assisted by Squire Cass and other substantial parishioners. It had just occurred to Mr. Snell, the landlord⁠—he being, as he observed, a man accustomed to put two and two together⁠—to connect with the tinderbox, which, as deputy-constable, he himself had had the honourable distinction of finding, certain recollections of a pedlar who had called to drink at the house about a month before, and had actually stated that he carried a tinderbox about with him to light his pipe. Here, surely, was a clue to be followed out. And as memory, when duly impregnated with ascertained facts, is sometimes surprisingly fertile, Mr. Snell gradually recovered a vivid impression of the effect produced on him by the pedlar’s countenance and conversation. He had a “look with his eye” which fell unpleasantly on Mr. Snell’s sensitive organism. To be sure, he didn’t say anything particular⁠—no, except that about the tinderbox⁠—but it isn’t what a man says, it’s the way he says it. Moreover, he had a swarthy foreignness of complexion which boded little honesty.

“Did he wear earrings?” Mr. Crackenthorp wished to know, having some acquaintance with foreign customs.

“Well⁠—stay⁠—let me see,” said Mr. Snell, like a docile clairvoyante, who would really not make a mistake if she could help it. After stretching the corners of his mouth and contracting his eyes, as if he were trying to see the earrings, he appeared to give up the effort, and said, “Well, he’d got earrings in his box to sell, so it’s nat’ral to suppose he might wear ’em. But he called at every house, a’most, in the village; there’s somebody else, mayhap, saw ’em in his ears, though I can’t take upon me rightly to say.”

Mr. Snell was correct in his surmise, that somebody else would remember the pedlar’s earrings. For on the spread of inquiry among the villagers it was stated with gathering emphasis, that the parson had wanted to know whether the pedlar wore earrings in his ears, and an impression was created that a great deal depended on the eliciting of this fact. Of course, everyone who heard the question, not having any distinct image of the pedlar as without earrings, immediately had an image of him with earrings, larger or smaller, as the case might be; and the image was presently taken for a vivid recollection, so that the glazier’s wife, a well-intentioned woman, not given to lying, and whose house was among the cleanest in the village, was ready to declare, as sure as ever she meant to take the sacrament the very next Christmas that was ever coming, that she had seen big earrings, in the shape of the young moon, in the pedlar’s two ears; while Jinny Oates, the cobbler’s daughter, being a more imaginative person, stated not only that she had seen them too, but that they had made her blood creep, as it did at that very moment while there she stood.

Also, by way of throwing further light on this clue of the tinderbox, a collection was made of all the articles purchased from the pedlar at various houses, and carried to the Rainbow to be exhibited there. In fact, there was a general feeling in the village, that for the