{"product_id":"2940012348715","title":"SILAS MARNER","description":"PART ONE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCHAPTER I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the\u003cbr\u003efarmhouses--and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, had\u003cbr\u003etheir toy spinning-wheels of polished oak--there might be seen in\u003cbr\u003edistricts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills,\u003cbr\u003ecertain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of the brawny\u003cbr\u003ecountry-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race.  The\u003cbr\u003eshepherd's dog barked fiercely when one of these alien-looking men\u003cbr\u003eappeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset; for what\u003cbr\u003edog likes a figure bent under a heavy bag?--and these pale men rarely\u003cbr\u003estirred abroad without that mysterious burden.  The shepherd himself,\u003cbr\u003ethough he had good reason to believe that the bag held nothing but\u003cbr\u003eflaxen thread, or else the long rolls of strong linen spun from that\u003cbr\u003ethread, was not quite sure that this trade of weaving, indispensable\u003cbr\u003ethough it was, could be carried on entirely without the help of the\u003cbr\u003eEvil One.  In that far-off time superstition clung easily round every\u003cbr\u003eperson or thing that was at all unwonted, or even intermittent and\u003cbr\u003eoccasional merely, like the visits of the pedlar or the knife-grinder.\u003cbr\u003eNo one knew where wandering men had their homes or their origin; and\u003cbr\u003ehow was a man to be explained unless you at least knew somebody who\u003cbr\u003eknew his father and mother? To the peasants of old times, the world\u003cbr\u003eoutside their own direct experience was a region of vagueness and\u003cbr\u003emystery: to their untravelled thought a state of wandering was a\u003cbr\u003econception as dim as the winter life of the swallows that came back\u003cbr\u003ewith the spring; and even a settler, if he came from distant parts,\u003cbr\u003ehardly ever ceased to be viewed with a remnant of distrust, which would\u003cbr\u003ehave prevented any surprise if a long course of inoffensive conduct on\u003cbr\u003ehis part had ended in the commission of a crime; especially if he had\u003cbr\u003eany reputation for knowledge, or showed any skill in handicraft.  All\u003cbr\u003ecleverness, whether in the rapid use of that difficult instrument the\u003cbr\u003etongue, or in some other art unfamiliar to villagers, was in itself\u003cbr\u003esuspicious: honest folk, born and bred in a visible manner, were mostly\u003cbr\u003enot overwise or clever--at least, not beyond such a matter as knowing\u003cbr\u003ethe signs of the weather; and the process by which rapidity and\u003cbr\u003edexterity of any kind were acquired was so wholly hidden, that they\u003cbr\u003epartook of the nature of conjuring.  In this way it came to pass that\u003cbr\u003ethose scattered linen-weavers--emigrants from the town into the\u003cbr\u003ecountry--were to the last regarded as aliens by their rustic\u003cbr\u003eneighbours, and usually contracted the eccentric habits which belong to\u003cbr\u003ea state of loneliness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the early years of this century, such a linen-weaver, named Silas\u003cbr\u003eMarner, worked at his vocation in a stone cottage that stood among the\u003cbr\u003enutty hedgerows near the village of Raveloe, and not far from the edge\u003cbr\u003eof a deserted stone-pit.  The questionable sound of Silas's loom, so\u003cbr\u003eunlike the natural cheerful trotting of the winnowing-machine, or the\u003cbr\u003esimpler rhythm of the flail, had a half-fearful fascination for the\u003cbr\u003eRaveloe boys, who would often leave off their nutting or birds'-nesting\u003cbr\u003eto peep in at the window of the stone cottage, counterbalancing a\u003cbr\u003ecertain awe at the mysterious action of the loom, by a pleasant sense\u003cbr\u003eof scornful superiority, drawn from the mockery of its alternating\u003cbr\u003enoises, along with the bent, tread-mill attitude of the weaver.  But\u003cbr\u003esometimes it happened that Marner, pausing to adjust an irregularity in\u003cbr\u003ehis thread, became aware of the small scoundrels, and, though chary of\u003cbr\u003ehis time, he liked their intrusion so ill that he would descend from\u003cbr\u003ehis loom, and, opening the door, would fix on them a gaze that was\u003cbr\u003ealways enough to make them take to their legs in terror.  For how was\u003cbr\u003eit possible to believe that those large brown protuberant eyes in Silas\u003cbr\u003eMarner's pale face really saw nothing very distinctly that was not\u003cbr\u003eclose to them, and not rather that their dreadful stare could dart\u003cbr\u003ecramp, or rickets, or a wry mouth at any boy who happened to be in the\u003cbr\u003erear?  They had, perhaps, heard their fathers and mothers hint that\u003cbr\u003eSilas Marner could cure folks' rheumatism if he had a mind, and add,\u003cbr\u003estill more darkly, that if you could only speak the devil fair enough,\u003cbr\u003ehe might save you the cost of the doctor.","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47152450633968,"sku":"2940012348715","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940012348715_p0.jpg?v=1763567685","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940012348715","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}