Here is what Mason tells Dixon of how Rebekah and he first met. Not yet understanding the narrative lengths Mason will go to, to avoid betraying her, Dixon believes ev'ry word—
'Twas at the annual cheese-rolling at the parish church in Randwick, a few miles the other side of Stroud. And May-Day as well, in its full English Glory, Mason's Baptismal day,— its own Breath being drawn again and again across the Brooksides, Copses, and Fields, heated, fra?grant. Every young woman for miles around would be there, although Mason adopted a more Scientifick motive, that of wishing to see at first hand, a much-rumored Prodigy, styled "The Octuple Gloucester,"— a giant Cheese, the largest known in the Region, perhaps in the Kingdom.
Some considered it an example of Reason run amok,— an unreflec-tive Vicar, worshiping at the wrong Altar, having convinced local Cheesemen to pool their efforts in accomplishing the feat. Scaled up from the dimensions of the classic Single Gloucester, not only in Thick?ness, but actually octupled in all dimensions, making it more like a 512-fold or Quincentenariduodecuple Gloucester,— running to nearly four tons in weight when green, and even after shrinkage towering ten feet high by the time it emerged from the giant Shed built at the outskirts of town especially for this unprecedented Caseifaction,— the extraordi?nary Cheese, as it slowly aged, had already provided material for months of public Rumor. In recent days, trying to contain their impatience, crowds had begun to gather outside the shed entrance, as if a royal birth were imminent. As gatherings of the People, in this part of England, often produc'd gastro-spiritual Distress among the Clothiers, there were also on hand a small body of Light Cavalry. When the Cheese was at last carefully rolled into publick View, those who were there remember a col?lective gasp, a beat of silence, then, "Well,— I knew it was going to be big, but— "..."How ever are they going to get it up to the Church?"... "Wonder what it tastes like?"
Traditionally, the cheeses to be blessed and ritually rolled thrice 'round the churchyard, and thence down a Hill, ordinary-sized Double Gloucesters, were carried to the site in wheeled litters of some antiquity, though such clearly, for this Behemoth, would not do. Someone finally located a gigantic Cotswold Waggon, painted brick red and sky blue, as were the spokes and rims, respectively, of its wheels. The Cheese, an equally vivid orange-yellow, had then to be carefully rolled off a kind of dock and on into the bed of the Waggon, where, like some dangerous large animal, it was secured with stout Cables in an erect position. As the sides of the Waggon were of spindles and not planks, the Cheese was visible to onlookers in its full Circumference.
The progress to Randwick Church was a Spectacle long to be remem?bered. Neighbor Folk of all conditions lined the route, at first, as the great Cheese swayed and loomed into view, silently in awe,— then, presently, as if strangely calmed by the Beams of a Luminary rising anew above each dip in the road,— calling out to the Cheese and its convey?ors, calls which after not too long became huzzahs and even Hosannas. Drinkers tumbled out of the alehouses and toasted the majestic food product as it passed— "Let's have three cheers for the Great Octuple, lads!" Girls blew Kisses. Local youths from time to time would spring aboard, to help steady the cargo when the road-surface became difficult, able to tell one day of how they had escorted the great Cheese upon its journey, that famous first of May. Singing,
Here's to the great, Octuple boys! the
Mon-ster Cheese of fame,
Let's cheer it with, a thund'rous noise,
Then twice more of the same,—
Oh the bells shall ring, and
The guns shall roar,
 For the won-derful Octuple Glo'r...
Aye, all the Lads, who push and who-pull,
Ev'ry Master, ev'ry Pupil
Single-ton and married Coople,
Eye at Win-dow, Door and Looph'le,
Ev'ry minim, dram and scruple
Of their Praise is Thine, Octuple!"
Of course Mason was there hoping to see Susannah Peach, even if it had to be from a distance, surrounded by cousins and friends. She would appear, as always, in silk. Her father, Samuel Peach, was a silk merchant of some repute, and a growing Power within the East India Company. Mason imagin'd her brought bolts of it, by Indians queu'd up in bright Livery, Silks without limit from the furthest of the far Eastern lands, the house in Minchinhampton soon drap'd ev'rywhere in bright spilled, intriguingly wrinkl'd yards of silkstuffs,— an hundred mirror'd candles casting upon it the fatty yellow light of a tropical sun. Savage flowers of the Indies, demurer Blooms of the British garden, stripes and tartans, foreign colors undream'd of in Newton's prismatics, damasks with epic-length Oriental tales woven into them, requiring hours of attentive gaz?ing whilst the light at the window went changing so as to reveal newer and deeper labyrinths of event, Velvets whose grasp of incident light was so predatory and absolute that one moved closer to compensate for what was not being reflected, till it felt like being drawn, oneself, inside the unthinkable contours of an invisible surface. She could distinguish Shantung from Tussah and Pongee, being often quite passionate in her Preferences. "Would you like to learn Silk, Charles? It might mean Aleppo instead of India. Would that disappoint you?"
"No, Miss." He had visited her House when she wasn't there. He had enter'd her room. He had knelt by her Bed and press'd his face to the Counterpane of Silk to inhale what he could of her Scent. In the Sewing-Room, from down at Surface-level, he imagin'd from the Silk strewn so carelessly, a Terrain steeply wrinkl'd into mountainsides and ravines, through which pass'd dangerous Silk-route shortcuts, down upon which with the patience of Reptiles bands of arm'd men in colorful costume gaz'd, and waited. Waited to kidnap and unspeakably mistreat beautiful young Silk Heiresses....
Today he felt more than usually glum. His father's birthday gift to him had been a day off from duties at the Mill. All 'round him, ev'rybody else his age was flirting, chasing, and larking, whilst he trudged about, wait?ing at last only for the giant Cheese, which had been due to arrive, actu?ally, some while ago. Susannah, as the daughter of a local dignitary, might be accompanying it upon its journey,— or might have stayed home altogether. He could see no one, withal, who was not by this point pair'd off. Not much use in staying, he suppos'd.... He started down the hill?side by the church, planning at the bottom to pick up the road back in to Stroud, incompletely attentive to the slow Crescendo of cheering from the crowd above, and the wave of Children spilling down the Hill, and the first cries of Warning.
As he'd learn later, the Vicar had decided for reasons of safety to roll nothing greater than a Double Gloucester down the Hill,— yet as if ordain'd by some invariance in the Day's Angular Momentum, the Drag-Shoe on one side of the Octuple's Waggon broke away, causing the con?veyance to slew, and slip down the side of a Hummock, and at last tip over, launching the Cheese into the Air, just before the Waggon (its Cata?pult) fell over with a great creak and jangle, Wheels a-spin, as meanwhile the enormous Cheese was hitting the Slope perfectly vertical,— bouncing once, startlingly orange against the green hillside, and beginning to roll, gathering speed. The first peripheral impression Mason had of it was of course a star-gazer's,— thinking, Why, the Moon isn't suppos'd to be out, nor full, nor quite this bright shade of yellow, nor for that matter to be growing in size this way,— about then smoaking belatedly where he was, and what was about to happen.
"Ahr! Mercy!" He threw his arms in front of his Face and succumb'd before the cylindrickal Onslaught, with a peculiar Horror at having been singl'd out for Misadventure... The Victim of a Cheese malevolent, being his last thought before abrupt Rescue by way of a stout shove, precede............