The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 21

“We shall see that,” said the Poor Thing; “for in my thought it is a good thing to do what our fathers did, and to keep what they kept without question. And in my thought one thing is as good as another in this world; and a shoe of a horse will do.”

Now they got into their boat with the horse-shoe, and when the dawn was come they were aware of the smoke of the Earl’s town and the bells of the Kirk that beat. So they set foot to shore: and the man went up to the market among the fishers over against the palace and the Kirk; and he was bitter poor and bitter ugly, and he had never a fish to sell, but only a shoe of a horse in his creel, and it rusty.

“Now,” said the Poor Thing, “do so and so, and you shall find a wife and I a mother.”

It befell that the Earl’s daughter came forth to go into the Kirk upon her prayers; and when she saw the poor man stand in the market with only the shoe of a horse, and it rusty, it came in her mind it should be a thing of price.

“What is that?” quoth she.

“It is a shoe of a horse,” said the man.

“And what is the use of it?” quoth the Earl’s daughter.

“It is for no use,” said the man.

“I may not believe that,” said she; “else why should you carry it?”

“I do so,” said he, “because it was so my fathers did in the ancient ages; and I have neither a better reason nor a worse.”

Now the Earl’s daughter could not find it in her mind to believe him. “Come,” quoth she, “sell me this, for I am sure it is a thing of price.”

“Nay,” said the man, “the thing is not for sale.”

“What!” cried the Earl’s daughter. “Then what make you here in the town’s market, with the thing in your creel and nought beside?”

“I sit here,” says the man, “to get me a wife.”

“There is no sense in any of these answers,” thought the Earl’s daughter; “and I could find it in my heart to weep.”

By came the Earl upon that; and she called him and told him all. And when he had heard, he was of his daughter’s mind that this should be a thing of virtue; and charged the man to set a price upon the thing, or else be hanged upon the gallows; and that was near at hand, so that the man could see it.

“The way of life is straight like the grooves of launching,” quoth the man. “And if I am to be hanged let me be hanged.”

“Why!” cried the Earl, “will you set your neck against a shoe of a horse, and it rusty?”

“In my thought,” said the man, “one thing is as good as another in this world; and the shoe of a horse will do.“

“This can never be,” thought the Earl; and he stood and looked upon the man, and bit his beard.

And the man looked up at him and smiled. “It was so my fathers did in the ancient ages,” quoth he to the Earl, “and I have neither a better reason nor a worse.”

“There is no sense in any of this,” thought the Earl, “and I must be growing old.” So he had his daughter on one side, and says he: “Many suitors have you denied, my child. But here is a very strange matter that a man should cling so to a shoe of a horse, and it rusty; and that he should offer it like a thing on sale, and yet not sell it; and that he should sit there seeking a wife. If I come not to the bottom of this thing, I shall have no more pleasure in bread; and I can see no way, but either I should hang or you should marry him.”

“By my troth, but he is bitter ugly,” said the Earl’s daughter. “How if the gallows be so near at hand?”

“It was not so,” said the Earl, “that my fathers did in the ancient ages. I am like the man, and can give you neither a better reason nor a worse. But do you, prithee, speak with him again.”

So the Earl’s daughter spoke to the man. “If you were not so bitter ugly,” quoth she, “my father the Earl would have us marry.”

“Bitter ugly am I,” said the man, “and you as fair as May. Bitter ugly I am, and what of that? It was so my fathers – ”

“In the name of God,” said the Earl’s daughter, “let your fathers be!“

“If I had done that,” said the man, “you had never been chaffering with me here in the market, nor your father the Earl watching with the end of his eye.”

“But come,” quoth the Earl’s daughter, “this is a very strange thing, that you would have me wed for a shoe of a horse, and it rusty.”

“In my thought,” quoth the man, “one thing is as good – ”

“O, spare me that,” said the Earl’s daughter, “and tell me why I should marry.”

“Listen and look,” said the man.

Now the wind blew through the Poor Thing like an infant crying, so that her heart was melted; and her eyes were unsealed, and she was aware of the thing as it were a babe unmothered, and she took it to her arms and it melted in her arms like the air.

“Come,” said the man, “behold a vision of our children, the busy hearth, and the white heads. And let that suffice, for it is all God offers.”

“I have no delight in it,” said she; but with that she sighed.

“The ways of life are straight like the grooves of launching,” said the man; and he took her by the hand.

“And what shall we do with the horse-shoe?” quoth she.

“I will give it to your father,” said the man; “and he can make a kirk and a mill of it for me.”

It came to pass in time that the Poor Thing was born; but memory of these matters slept with him, and he knew not that which he had done. But he was a part of the eldest son; 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.

XX

THE SONG OF THE MORROW

The King of Duntrine had a daughter when he was old, and she was the fairest King’s daughter between two seas; her hair was like spun gold, and her eyes like pools in a river; and the King gave her a castle upon the sea beach, with a terrace, and a court of the hewn stone, and four towers at the four corners. Here she dwelt and grew up, and had no care for the morrow, and no power upon the hour, after the manner of simple men.

It befell that she walked one day by the beach of the sea when it was autumn, and the wind blew from the place of rains; and upon the one hand of her the sea beat, and upon the other the dead leaves ran. This was the loneliest beach between two seas, and strange things had been done there in the ancient ages. Now the King’s daughter was aware of a crone that sat upon the beach. The sea-foam ran to her feet, and the dead leaves swarmed about her back, and the rags blew about her face in the blowing of the wind.

“Now,” said the King’s daughter, and she named a holy name, “this is the most unhappy old crone between two seas.”

“Daughter of a King,” said the crone, “you dwell in a stone house, and your hair is like the gold: but what is your profit? Life is not long, nor lives strong; and you live after the way of simple men, and have no thought for the morrow and no power upon the hour.”

“Thought for the morrow, that I have,” said the King’s daughter; “but power upon the hour, that have I not.” And she mused with herself.

Then the crone smote her lean hands one within the other, and laughed like a sea-gull. “Home!” cried she. “O daughter of a King, home to your stone house; for the longing is come upon you now, nor can you live any more after the manner of simple men. Home, and toil and suffer, till the gift come that will make you bare, and till the man come that will bring you care.”

The King’s daughter made no more ado, but she turned about and went home to her house in silence. And when she was come into her chamber she called for her nurse.

“Nurse,” said the King’s daughter, “thought is come upon me for the morrow, so that I can live no more after the manner of simple men. Tell me what I must do that I may have power upon the hour.”

Then the nurse moaned like a snow wind. “Alas!” said she, “that this thing should be; but the thought is gone into your marrow, nor is there any cure against the thought. Be it so, then, even as you will; though power is less than weakness, power shall you have; and though the thought is colder than winter, yet shall you think it to an end.”