Publisher's Synopsis
To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature. At thepassing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the hollywhistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles whileits flat boughs rise and fall. And winter, which modifies the note of such trees as shed theirleaves, does not destroy its individuality.On a cold and starry Christmas-eve within living memory a man was passing up a lanetowards Mellstock Cross in the darkness of a plantation that whispered thus distinctively tohis intelligence. All the evidences of his nature were those afforded by the spirit of hisfootsteps, which succeeded each other lightly and quickly, and by the liveliness of his voiceas he sang in a rural cadence: