The Maid of SkerBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Maid of Sker
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Foundlings -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Wales -- Fiction
And taking this pious and humble view of the night's occurrence, I soon
perceived a special fitness in the time of its ordering. For it happened
to be the very night when Evan Thomas was out of the way, as I had been
told at Nottage, and the steward of the manor safe to be as drunk as a
fiddler at Bridgend; and it was not more than a few months since that
envious Scotchman, Sandy Macraw (a scurvy limb of the coastguards, who
lived by poaching on my born rights), had set himself up with a boat,
forsooth, on purpose to rogue me and rob me the better. No doubt he had
stolen it somewhere, for he first appeared at night with it; and now
here was a boat, in all honesty mine, which would travel two feet for
each one of his tub!
By the time I had finished these grateful reflections, and resolved to
contribute any unsold crabs to the Dissenting minister's salary (in
recognition of the hand of Providence, and what he had taught me
concerning it no longer ago than last Sabbath-day, when he said that the
Lord would make up to me for the loss of my poor wife, though never
dreaming, I must confess, of anything half so good as a boat), and by
the time that I had moored this special mercy snugly, and hidden the
oars, so that no vile wrecker could make off with her feloniously, that
dear little child was grown quiet again, being unable to cry any more,
and now beginning to watch my doings as much as I could wish, or more.
She never seemed tired of watching me, having slept out all her sleep
for the moment; and as I piled up fish on fish, and they came sliding,
slippery, she came shyly, eyeing them with a desire to see each one,
pushing her mites of fingers out, and then drawing back in a hurry as
their bellies shone in the moonlight. Some of the congers could wriggle
still, and they made her scream when they did it; but the lobsters were
her chief delight, being all alive and kicking. She came and touched
them reverently, and ready to run if they took it amiss; and then she
stroked their whiskers, crying, "Pitty, pitty! jolly, jolly!" till one
great fellow, who knew no better, would have nipped her wrist asunder if
I had not ricked his claw.
"Now, deary," said I, as I drew her away, "you have brought poor old
Davy a beautiful boat, and the least that he can do for you is to get
you a good supper." For since her tumble the little soul had seemed
neither hungry nor thirsty.
"Pease, old Davy," she answered, "I 'ants to go to mama and papa, and
ickle bother and Susan."
"The devil you do!" thought I, in a whistle, not seeing my way to a fib
as yet.
"Does 'ee know mama and papa, and ickle bother, old Davy?"
"To be sure I do, my deary--better than I know you, almost."
"'Et me go to them, 'et me go to them. Hot ma say about my poor leggy
peggy?"
This was more than I could tell; believing her mother to be, no doubt,
some thirty fathoms under water, and her father and little brother in
about the same predicament.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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