Produced by Louise Hope, Alicia Williams and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net [Transcriber’s Note: In the printed book, all advertising and related matter was placed before the main text; the Epilogue was the final page of the book. Most of this front matter has been moved to the end of the e-text.] * * * * * KRINDLESYKE BY WILFRID GIBSON * * * * * Macmillan And Co., Limited St. Martin’s Street, London 1922 Copyright Printed in Great Britain To CATHERINE and LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE NOTE On the occasion of an obscure dramatic presentation, an early and rudimentary draft of Book I. was published in 1910. It has since been entirely re-written. Book II., written 1919-22, has not been printed hitherto. Though the work was not conceived with a view to stage-production, the author reserves the acting rights. It may be added that, while “Krindlesyke” is not in dialect, it has been flavoured with a sprinkling of local words; but as these are, for the most part, words expressive of emotion, rather than words conveying information, the sense of them should be easily gathered even by the south-country reader. W. G. PRELUDE Four bleak stone walls, an eaveless, bleak stone roof, Like a squared block of native crag, it stands, Hunched, on skirlnaked, windy fells, aloof: Yet, was it built by patient human hands: Hands, that have long been dust, chiselled each stone, And bedded it secure; and from the square Squat chimneystack, hither and thither blown, The reek of human fires still floats in air, And perishes, as life on life burns through. Squareset and stark to every blast that blows, It bears the brunt of time, withstands anew Wildfires of tempest and league-scouring snows, Dour and unshaken by any mortal doom, Timeless, unstirred by any mortal dream: And ghosts of reivers gather in the gloom About it, muttering, when the lych-owls scream. “From one generation to another.” * * * * * BOOK I PHŒBE BARRASFORD * * * * * BOOK I PHŒBE BARRASFORD _Krindlesyke is a remote shepherd’s cottage on the Northumbrian fells, at least three miles from any other habitation. It consists of two rooms, a but and a ben. EZRA BARRASFORD, an old herd, blind and decrepit, sits in an armchair in the but, or living-room, near the open door, on a mild afternoon in April. ELIZA BARRASFORD, his wife, is busy, making griddle-cakes over the peat fire._ ELIZA (_glancing at the wag-at-the-wa’_): It’s hard on three o’clock, and they’ll be home Before so very long now. EZRA: Eh, what’s that? ELIZA: You’re growing duller every day. I said They’d soon be home now. EZRA: They? And who be they?