The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
"Methinks you have a cruel tongue," said the elder brother; and he
pulled out the clear pebble and turned its light on his brother; and
behold the man was lying, his soul was shrunk into the smallness of a
pea, and his heart was a bag of little fears like scorpions, and love
was dead in his bosom. And at that the elder brother cried out aloud,
and turned the light of the pebble on the maid, and, lo! she was but a
mask of a woman, and withinsides she was quite dead, and she smiled as a
clock ticks, and knew not wherefore.
"O, well," said the elder brother, "I perceive there is both good and
bad. So fare ye all as well as ye may in the dun; but I will go forth
into the world with my pebble in my pocket."
XIX
THE POOR THING
There was a man in the islands who fished for his bare bellyful, and
took his life in his hands to go forth upon the sea between four planks.
But though he had much ado, he was merry of heart; and the gulls heard
him laugh when the spray met him. And though he had little lore, he was
sound of spirit; and when the fish came to his hook in the mid-waters,
he blessed God without weighing. He was bitter poor in goods and bitter
ugly of countenance, and he had no wife.
It fell in the time of the fishing that the man awoke in his house about
the midst of the afternoon. The fire burned in the midst, and the smoke
went up and the sun came down by the chimney. And the man was aware of
the likeness of one that warmed his hands at the red peats.
"I greet you," said the man, "in the name of God."
"I greet you," said he that warmed his hands, "but not in the name of
God, for I am none of His; nor in the name of Hell, for I am not of
Hell. For I am but a bloodless thing, less than wind and lighter than a
sound, and the wind goes through me like a net, and I am broken by a
sound and shaken by the cold."
"Be plain with me," said the man, "and tell me your name and of your
nature."
"My name," quoth the other, "is not yet named, and my nature not yet
sure. For I am part of a man; and I was a part of your fathers, and went
out to fish and fight with them in the ancient days. But now is my turn
not yet come; and I wait until you have a wife, and then shall I be in
your son, and a brave part of him, rejoicing manfully to launch the boat
into the surf, skilful to direct the helm, and a man of might where the
ring closes and the blows are going."
"This is a marvellous thing to hear," said the man; "and if you are
indeed to be my son, I fear it will go ill with you; for I am bitter
poor in goods and bitter ugly in face, and I shall never get me a wife
if I live to the age of eagles."
"All this have I come to remedy, my Father," said the Poor Thing; "for
we must go this night to the little isle of sheep, where our fathers lie
in the dead-cairn, and to-morrow to the Earl's Hall, and there shall you
find a wife by my providing."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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