A dense white fog hung
over the Valley of the Exe, ending against the hills on either side.
But though nothing in the vale could be seen from higher ground,
notes of differing kinds gave pretty clear indications that bustling
life was going on there. This audible presence and visual absence of
an active scene had a peculiar effect above the fog level. Nature
had laid a white hand over the creatures ensconced within the vale,
as a hand might be laid over a nest of chirping birds.
The noises that ascended through the pallid coverlid were perturbed
lowings, mingled with human voices in sharps and flats, and the bark
of a dog. These, followed by the slamming of a gate, explained as
well as eyesight could have done, to any inhabitant of the district,
that Dairyman Tucker's under-milker was driving the cows from the
meads into the stalls. When a rougher accent joined in the
vociferations of man and beast, it would have been realized that the
dairy-farmer himself had come out to meet the cows, pail in hand, and
white pinafore on; and when, moreover, some women's voices joined in
the chorus, that the cows were stalled and proceedings about to
commence.
A hush followed, the atmosphere being so stagnant that the milk could
be heard buzzing into the pails, together with occasional words of
the milkmaids and men.
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