‘One day,’ the registrar¹ continued, ‘Georgy was ambling² out of Melchester on a miserable³ screw, the fair being just over, when he saw in front of him a fine-looking young farmer riding out of the town in the same direction.  He was mounted on a good strong handsome animal, worth fifty guineas if worth a crown.  When they were going up Bissett Hill, Georgy made it his business to overtake the young farmer.  They passed the time o’ day to one another; Georgy spoke⁴ of the state of the roads, and jogged alongside the well-mounted stranger in very friendly conversation.  The farmer had not been inclined to say much to Georgy at first, but by degrees he grew quite affable too—as friendly as Georgy was toward him.  He told Crookhill that he had been doing business at Melchester fair, and was going on as far as Shottsford-Forum that night, so as to reach Casterbridge market the next day.  When they came to Woodyates Inn they stopped to bait their horses, and agreed to drink together; with this they got more friendly than ever, and on they went again.  Before they had nearly reached Shottsford it came on to rain, and as they were now passing through the village of Trantridge, and it was quite dark, Georgy persuaded the young farmer to go no further that night; the rain would most likely give them a chill.  For his part he had heard that the little inn here was comfortable, and he meant to stay.  At last the young farmer agreed to put up there also; and they dismounted, and entered, and had a good supper together, and talked over their affairs like men who had known and proved each other a long time.  When it was the hour for retiring they went upstairs to a double-bedded room which Georgy Crookhill had asked the landlord to let them share, so sociable⁵ were they.