The Maid of SkerBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Maid of Sker
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Foundlings -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Wales -- Fiction
I gave the little souls their wine--as they called it--of
gooseberry-water, a good egg-cup full apiece; and away they went, like
two little women, into the garden to play with it, and see who would
keep it the longest. Then I put the rest of the ham in the cupboard, and
returning to the conger, began to enjoy the carver's privilege of ten
minutes for his own fork. But just as I had done handsomely well, and
was now preparing to think about a pipe of fine Navy tobacco, and a
small nip of old rum and water, suddenly my door was darkened, and there
stood the very last man (save one) whom, for my comfort and calm Sabbath
feeling, I could ever have wished to see.
"Peace be to this house," he began, with his hands spread out, and his
eyes turned up, but his nostrils taking sniff of things: "peace be to
this humble home, and the perishing flesh contained in it! Brother Davy,
is it well with thee?"
"Brother Hezekiah," said I, perceiving what he was up to: "no flesh does
this house contain; for that it is too humble. But in the name of the
Lord, right welcome art thou to cold conger! Brother, I pray thee, arise
and eat; and go forty days hence on the strength of it."
"It hath been done," replied Hezekiah, "by Divine grace and unceasing
prayer. But come, old chap, I am sure you have got something better in
that cupboard. Stinking fish hast thou often sold me, and lo I have
striven to like it! therefore give me good meat now, and let us rejoice
at thy great doings."
This speech was so full of truth that it got the upper hand of me, both
by the sense of compunction and the strength of hospitality, and I could
no longer deny to Perkins all that remained of poor Bardie's ham. "I
have expounded the word of the Lord, I have been as Lot in your little
Zoar," he cried, going on for the third help of ham; "my spirit was
mighty within me, David; and Hepzibah took up the wondrous tale.
Backsliding brother, where hast thou been? There is a movement and
revival set afoot from my burning words and Hepzibah's prophecies such
as shall make your rotten old Church----"
"Have a drop of beer," I said, for I did not like to see him shake his
fist at our church-tower.
"Well, I don't mind if I do," he answered, "now I come to think of it.
Everything in its season, brother. And a drop of your old rum
afterwards."
I pretended not to hear this last; for though I might stand him in
twopenny ale, I saw no reason for spoiling the tops of a bottle or two
that I scorned to open, even when my rheumatics had leapt from my double
half-ribs to my ear-drops. So, after observing that things were locked
up, I ran into the Jolly, and fetched a pint of small ale, very rapidly.
Not expecting me back so soon, he had made a good round, with his knife
in his hand, to see what might be hoped for. Now back he came with a
groan, and said that he knew not what he was fit for. When the power of
the Word came upon him, he had such spasms afterwards.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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