"Their daughter was not at all a pretty chiel at that time," said Henery Fray.
"Ay, I can mind yer face now, shepherd," said Henery Fray, criticising Gabriel with misty eyes as he entered upon his second tune.
Henery Fray was the first to follow.
A few minutes later, when the remaining ones were on their legs and about to depart, Fray came back again in a hurry.
"Matthew Moon, mem," said Henery Fray, correctingly, from behind her chair, to which point he had edged himself.
"The new shepherd will want a man under him," suggested Henery Fray, trying to make himself official again by a sideway approach towards her chair.
The form of Henery Fray advanced to the fire, stamping the snow from his boots when about half-way there.
"—Sheep have broke fence," said Fray.
"And they be getting blasted," said Henery Fray.
Fray’s forehead was wrinkled both perpendicularly and crosswise, after the pattern of a portcullis, expressive of a double despair.
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Mr. Fray here drew up his features to the mild degree of melancholy required when the persons involved in the given misfortune do not belong to your own family.
Bathsheba blushed slightly at the sense of being generous in public, and Henery Fray, who had drawn up towards her chair, lifted his eyebrows and fingers to express amazement on a small scale.
"Drink, Henry Fray—drink," magnanimously said Jan Coggan, a person who held Saint-Simonian notions of share and share alike where liquor was concerned, as the vessel showed signs of approaching him in its gradual revolution among them.
While the cup was being examined, the end of Gabriel Oak’s flute became visible over his smock-frock pocket, and Henery Fray exclaimed, "Surely, shepherd, I seed you blowing into a great flute by now at Casterbridge?"
"Ay, sure—that’s the machine," chimed in Henery Fray, reflectively, with an Oriental indifference to the flight of time.
As usual with decided characters, Bathsheba invariably provoked the criticism of individuals like Henery Fray.
The bent and hoary man was satisfied, and so apparently was Henery Fray.
CHAPTER XXI TROUBLES IN THE FOLD—A MESSAGE Gabriel Oak had ceased to feed the Weatherbury flock for about four-and-twenty hours, when on Sunday afternoon the elderly gentlemen Joseph Poorgrass, Matthew Moon, Fray, and half-a-dozen others, came running up to the house of the mistress of the Upper Farm.
God send that it mid be a lie, for though Henery Fray and some of ’cause do speak against her, she’s never been anything but fair to me.
…doleful-bells, were among the quainter objects of the vegetable world in and about Weatherbury at this teeming time; and of the animal, the metamorphosed figures of Mr. Jan Coggan, the master-shearer; the second and third shearers, who travelled in the exercise of their calling, and do not require definition by name; Henery Fray the fourth shearer, Susan Tall’s husband the fifth, Joseph Poorgrass the sixth, young Cain Ball as assistant-shearer, and Gabriel Oak as general supervisor.
Are they satisfactory women?" she inquired softly of Henery Fray.
" ’A’s a stammering man, mem," said Henery Fray in an undertone, "and they turned him away because the only time he ever did speak plain he said his soul was his own, and other iniquities, to the squire.
Henery Fray spoke, exhibiting miserable eyes at the same time: "I don’t see why a maid should take a husband when she’s bold enough to fight her own battles, and don’t want a home; for ’tis keeping another woman out.