She went upstairs and took from a locked drawer a little box, out of which she poured a hoard of broad unworn guineas that had lain there many a year.  There were a hundred in all, and she divided them into two heaps, fifty in each.  Tying up these in small canvas bags, she went down to the garden and called to Christian Cantle, who was loitering about in hope of a supper which was not really owed him.  Mrs. Yeobright gave him the moneybags, charged him to go to Mistover, and on no account to deliver them into any one’s hands save her son’s and Thomasin’s.  On further thought she deemed it advisable to tell Christian precisely what the two bags contained, that he might be fully impressed with their importance.  Christian pocketed the money-bags, promised the greatest carefulness, and set out on his way.

“You need not hurry,” said Mrs. Yeobright.  “It will be better not to get there till after dusk, and then nobody will notice you.  Come back here to supper, if it is not too late.”

It was nearly nine o’clock when he began to ascend the vale towards Mistover; but the long days of summer being at their climax, the first obscurity of evening had only just begun to tan the landscape.  At this point of his journey Christian heard voices, and found that they proceeded from a company of men and women who were traversing a hollow ahead of him, the tops only of their heads being visible.

He paused and thought of the money he carried.  It was almost too early even for Christian seriously to fear robbery; nevertheless he took a precaution which ever since his boyhood he had adopted whenever he carried more than two or three shillings upon his person—­a precaution somewhat like that of the owner of the Pitt Diamond when filled with similar misgivings.  He took off his boots, untied the guineas, and emptied the contents of one little bag into the right boot, and of the other into the left, spreading them as flatly as possible over the bottom of each, which was really a spacious coffer by no means limited to the size of the foot.  Pulling them on again and lacing them to the very top, he proceeded on his way, more easy in his head than under his soles.

His path converged towards that of the noisy company, and on coming nearer he found to his relief that they were several Egdon people whom he knew very well, while with them walked Fairway, of Blooms-End.

“What!  Christian going too?” said Fairway as soon as he recognized the newcomer.  “You’ve got no young woman nor wife to your name to gie a gown-piece to, I’m sure.”

“What d’ye mean?” said Christian.

“Why, the raffle.  The one we go to every year.  Going to the raffle as well as ourselves?”

“Never knew a word o’t.  Is it like cudgel-playing or other sportful forms of bloodshed?  I don’t want to go, thank you, Mister Fairway, and no offence.”

“Christian don’t know the fun o’t, and ’twould be a fine sight for him,” said a buxom woman.  “There’s no danger at all, Christian.  Every man puts in a shilling apiece, and one wins a gown-piece for his wife or sweetheart if he’s got one.”