The Maid of SkerBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Maid of Sker
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Foundlings -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Wales -- Fiction
or summons, run against people without a name? It had once been tried
with a "Nesho Kiss," the meaning of which was beyond me; but Parson
Chowne upset that at once; and the bailiff was fit to make bricks of.
At this I shook my head and smiled; because we put up with many evils on
our side of the water, but never with people so unbecoming in their
manner of life and clothes. And I thought how even mild Colonel Lougher
would have behaved upon such a point, and how sharp Anthony Stew would
have stamped when they began to pelt him; and how I wished him there to
try it!
Nevertheless I desired to know what victuals these good barbarians had;
because, although like the Indian Jogis (mentioned by some great
traveller) they might prove their right to go without clothes, which
never were born upon them, they could not to my mind prove their power
to do so well without victuals. He answered that this was a clever thing
on my part to inquire about; but that I was so far wrong that these
people would eat anything. His Reverence sent them every week the refuse
of his garden, as well as of stable-yard and kennel, and they had a gift
of finding food in everything around them. Their favourite dish--so to
say, when they had never a dish among them--was what they discovered in
the pasture-land; and this they divided carefully; accounting it the
depth of shame, and the surest mark of civilisation, to cheat one
another. But they could not expect to get this every day, in a
neighbourhood of moorland; therefore, instead of grumbling, they did
their best to get on without it. And Providence always sends thousands
of victuals for all whose stomachs have not been ruined by thinking too
much about them; or very likely through the women beginning to make them
delicate. So when a man is sea-sick, he thinks of and hates almost
everything.
On the other hand, these noble fellows hated nothing that could be
chewed. Twenty-one sorts of toad-stool, with the insects which inhabit
them; three varieties of eft, and of frogs no less than seven; also
slugs six inches long, too large to have a house built; moles that live
in lines of decks, like a man-of-war's-man; also rats, and brindled
hedgehogs, and the grubs of hornets (which far surpass all
oysters)--these, and other little things, like goat-moths, leopards, and
money-grubs, kept them so alive as never to come down on the parish.
Neither was there any hen-roost, rick-yard, apple-room, or dairy, on the
farms around them, but in it they found nourishment. Into all this I
could enter, while the groom only showed the door of it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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