CONTENTS

The Crane
The Lighthouse
The Money
The Snow
Red Fox
The Ovens

Thanks are due to the editors of THE ENGLISH REVIEW, RHYTHM and THE NATION for leave to reprint some of these tales.

FIRES

THE CRANE

The biggest crane on earth, it lifts

Two hundred ton more easily

Than I can lift my heavy head:

And when it swings, the whole world shifts,

Or so, at least, it seems to me,

As, day and night, adream I lie

Upon my crippled back in bed,

And watch it up against the sky.

My mother, hunching in her chair,

Day-long, and stitching trousers there--

At three-and-three the dozen pair...

She'd sit all night, and stitch for me,

Her son, if I could only wear...

She never lifts her eyes to see

The big crane swinging through the air.

But, though she has no time to talk,

She always cleans the window-pane,

That I may see it, clear and plain:

And, as I watch it move, I walk

Who never walked in all my days...

And, often, as I dream agaze,

I'm up and out: and it is I

Who swing the crane across the sky.

Right up above the wharf I stand,

And touch a lever with my hand,

To lift a bunch of girders high,

A truck of coal, a field of grain

In sacks, a bundle of big trees,

Or beasts, too frightened in my grip

To wonder at their skiey trip:

And then I let the long arm dip

Without a hitch, without a slip,

To set them safely in the ship

That waits to take them overseas.

My mother little dreams it's I,

Up there, as tiny as a fly,

Who stand above the biggest crane,

And swing the ship-loads through the sky;

While she sits, hunching in her chair,

Day-long, and stitching trousers there--

At three-and-three the dozen pair.

And sometimes when it turns me dizzy,

I lie and watch her, ever busy;

And wonder at a lot of things

I never speak to her about:

I wonder why she never sings

Like other people on the stair...

And why, whenever she goes out

Upon a windy day, the air

Makes her sad eyes so strangely bright...

And if the colour of her hair

Was brown like mine, or always white...

And why, when through the noise of feet

Of people passing in the street,

She hears a dog yelp or sheep bleat,

She always starts up in her chair,

And looks before her with strange stare,

Yet, seeing nothing anywhere:

Though, right before her, through the sky,

The biggest crane goes swinging by.

But, it's a lucky day and rare

When she's the time to talk with me...

Though, only yesterday, when night

Shut out, at last, the crane from sight...

She, in her bed, and thinking I

Was sleeping--though I watch the sky,

At times, till it is morning-light,

And ships are waiting to unload--

I heard her murmur drowsily:

"The pit-pat-pattering of feet,

All night, along the moonlit road...

A yelp, a whistle, and a bleat...

The bracken's deep and soft and dry...

And safe and snug, and no one near...

The little burn sings low and sweet,

The little burn sings shrill and clear...

And loud all night the cock-grouse talks...

There's naught in heaven or earth to fear...

The pit-pat-pattering of feet...

A yelp, a whistle, and a bleat..."

And then, she started up in bed:

I felt her staring, as she said:

"I wonder if he ever hears

The pit-pat-pattering of sheep,

Or smells the broken bracken stalks...

While she is lying sound-asleep

Beside him ... after all these years--

Just nineteen years, this very night--

Remembering? ... and now, his son,

A man ... and never stood upright!"

And then, I heard a sound of tears;

But dared not speak, or let her know

I'd caught a single whisper, though

I wondered long what she had done

That she should fear the pattering feet:

And when those queer words in the night

Had fretted me half-dead with fright,

And set my throbbing head abeat...

Out of the darkness, suddenly,

The crane's long arm swung over me,

Among the stars, high overhead...

And then it dipped, and clutched my bed

And I had not a breath to cry,

Before it swung me through the sky,

Above the sleeping city high,

Where blinding stars went blazing by...

My mother, hunching in her chair,

Day-long, and stitching trousers there,

At three-and-three the dozen pair,

With quiet eyes and smooth white hair...

You'd little think a yelp or bleat

Could start her; or that she was weeping

So sorely, when she thought me sleeping.

She never tells me why she fears

The pit-pat-pattering of feet

All night along the moonlit road...

Or what's the wrong that she has done...

I wonder if 'twould bring her tears,

If she could know that I, her son--

A man, who never stood upright,

But all the livelong day must lie,

And watch, beyond the window-pane

The swaying of the biggest crane--

That I, within its clutch, last night,

Went whirling through the starry sky.

THE LIGHTHOUSE

Just as my watch was done, the fog had lifted;

And we could see the flashing of our light;

And see, once more, the reef beyond the Head,

O'er which, six days and nights, the mist had drifted--

Six days and nights in thick white mist had drifted,

Until it seemed all time to mist had drifted,

And day and night were but one blind white night.

But on the seventh midnight the wind shifted:

And I was glad to tumble into bed,

Thankful to hear no more the blaring horn,

That ceaselessly had sounded, night and morn,

With moaning echoes through the mist, to warn

The blind, bewildered ships at sea:

Yet, though as tired as any dog,

I lay awhile, and seemed to feel

Fog lying on my eyes still heavily;

And still, the horn unceasingly

Sang through my head, till gradually

Through night's strange stillness, over me

Sweet sleep began to steal,

Sleep, blind and thick and fleecy as the fog.

For all I knew, I might have slept

A moment, or eternity;

When, startled by a crash,

I waked to find I'd leapt

Upright on the floor:

And stood there, listening to the smash

Of falling glass ... and then a thud

Of something heavy tumbling

Into the next room...

A pad of naked feet...

A moan ... a sound of stumbling ...

A heavier thud ... and then no more.

And I stood shivering in the gloom,

With creeping flesh, and tingling blood,

Until I gave myself a shake

To bring my wits more wide awake;

And lit a lantern, and flung wide the door.

Half-dazed, and dazzled by the light,

At first it seemed I'd only find

A broken pane, a flapping blind:

But when I raised the lantern o'er my head,

I saw a naked boy upon the bed,

Who crouched and shuddered on the folded sheet;

And, on his face, before my feet,

A naked man, who lay as if quite dead,

Though on his broken knuckles blood was red:

And all my wits awakened at the sight.

I set the lantern down; and took the child,

Who looked at me, with piteous eyes and wild;

And chafed his chill, wet body, till it glowed;

And forcing spirit 'twixt his chattering teeth,

I tucked him snugly in beneath

The blankets, and soon left him warmly stowed:

And stooped to tend the man, who lay

Still senseless on the floor.

I turned him off his face;

And laid him on the other bed;

And washed and staunched his wound.

And yet for all that I could do,

I could not bring him to,

Or see a trace

Of life returning to that heavy head.

It seemed he'd swooned,

When through the window he'd made way,

Just having strength to lay

The boy in safety. Still as death,

He lay, without a breath:

And seeing I could do no more

To help him in the fight for life;

I turned again to tend the lad;

And, as I looked on him, was glad

To find him sleeping quietly.

So, fetching fuel, I lit a fire:

And quickly had as big a blaze

As any housewife could desire:

Then, 'twixt the beds, I set a chair,

That I might watch until they stirred:

And as I saw them lying there--

The sleeping boy, and him who lay

In that strange stiller sleep, 'twas plain

That they were son and father, now

I'd time to look, and wonder how,

In such a desperate plight,

Without a stitch or rag,

They'd taken refuge from the night.

And, as I wondered drowsily,

It seemed yet queerer and more queer;

For round the Head the rocks are sheer,

With scarce a foothold for a bird;

And it seemed quite beyond belief

That any wrecked upon the reef,

Could swim ashore, and scale the crag,

By daylight, let alone by night

But, they who live beside the sea

Know naught's too wonderful to be:

And, as I sat, and heard

The quiet breathing of the child,

Great weariness came over me;

And, in a kind of daze,

I watched the blaze,

With nodding head:

And must have slept, for, presently,

I found the man was sitting up in bed:

And talking to himself, with wide, unseeing eyes.

At first, I hardly made out what he said:

But soon his voice, so hoarse and wild,

Grew calm: and, straining, I could hear

The broken words, that came with many sighs.

"Yes, lad: she's going: but, there's naught to fear:

For I can swim: and tow you in the belt.

Come, let's join hands together; and leap clear...

Aye, son: it's dark and cold ... but you have felt

The cold and dark before...

And you should scorn...

And we must be near shore...

For, hark the horn!

Think of your mother, and your home, and leap...

She thinks of us, lad, waking or asleep...

You would not leave her lonely?

Nay! ... then ... go! ...

Well done, lad! ... Nay! I'm here...

Aye, son, it's cold: but you're too big to fear.

Now then, you're snug: I've got you safe in tow:

The worst is over: and we've only

To make for land ... we've naught ... to do ... but steer...

But steer ... but steer..."

He paused; and sank down in the bed, quite done:

And lay a moment silent, while his son

Still slumbered in the other bed,

And on his quiet face the firelight shone.

Then, once again, the father raised his head,

And rambled on...

"Say, lad, what cheer?

I thought you'd dropped asleep: but you're all right.

We'll rest a moment ... I'm quite out of breath...

It's further than ... Nay, son! there's naught to fear...

The land must be quite near...

The horn is loud enough!

Aye, lad, it's cold:

But, you're too old

To cry for cold.

Now ... keep ... tight hold:

And we'll be off again.

I've got my breath..."

He sank, once more, as still as death,

With hands that clutched the counterpane:

But still the boy was sleeping quietly.

And then, the father sat up suddenly:

And cried: "See! See!

The land! the land!

It's near ... I touch it with my hand."

And now, "Oh God!" he moaned.

Small wonder, when he saw what lay before--

The black, unbroken crags, so grim and high,

That must have seemed to him to soar

Sheer from the sea's edge to the sky.

But, soon, he plucked up heart, once more:

"We're safe, lad--safe ashore!

A narrow ledge, but land, firm land.

We'll soon be high and dry.

Nay, son: we can't stay here:

The waves would have us back;

Or we should perish of the cold.

Come, lad: there's naught to fear...

You must be brave and bold.

Perhaps, we'll strike a track.

Aye, son: it's steep, and black,

And slimy to the hold:

But we must climb, and see! the mist is gone.

The stars are shining clear...

Think, son, your mother's at the top;

And you'll be up in no time. See, that star,

The brightest star that ever shone,

Just think it's she who watches you;

And knows that you'll be brave and true.

Come, lad: we may not stop...

Or, else, the cold...

Give me your hand...

Your foot there, now ... just room to stand.

It cannot be so far...

We'll soon be up ... this work should make us warm.

Thank God, it's not a storm,

Or we should scarce ... your foot, here, firm...

Nay, lad! you must not squirm.

Come, be a man: you shall not fall:

I'll hold you tight.

There: now, you are my own son, after all!

Your mother, lad,

Her star burns bright...

And we're already half-way up the height...

Your mother will be glad,

Aye, she'll be glad to hear

Of her brave boy who had no fear.

Your foot ... your hand ... 'twas but a bird

You startled out of bed:

'Twould think it queer

To wake up, suddenly, and see your head!

And, when you stirred...

Nay! steady, lad!

Or you will send your dad...

Your hand ... your foot ... we'll rest upon this ledge...

Why, son, we're at the top! I feel the edge,

And grass, soft, dewy grass!

Let go, one moment; and I'll draw you up...

Now, lad! ... Thank God! that's past...

And you are safe, at last:

You're safe, you're safe ... and now, my precious lass

Will see her son, her little son, again.

I never thought to reach the top, to-night.

God! What a height!

Nay! but you must not look: 'twould turn your head

And we must not stand shivering here...

And see ... a flashing light...

It's sweeping towards us: and now you stand bright.

Ah, your poor, bleeding hands and feet!

My little son, my sweet!

There's nothing more to fear.

A lighthouse, lad! And we must make for it.

You're tired; I'll carry you a bit.

Nay, son: 'twill warm me up...

And there will be a fire and bed;

And ev'n perhaps a cup

Of something hot to drink,

And something good to eat.

And think, son, only think,

Your home ... and mother ... once again."

Once more, the weary head

Sank back upon the bed:

And, for a while, he hardly stirred;

But only muttered, now and then,

A broken word,

As though to cheer

His son, who still slept quietly,

Upon the other side of me.

And then, my blood ran cold to hear

A sudden cry of fear:

"My son! My son!

Ah, God, he's done!

I thought I'd laid him on the bed...

I've laid him on white mist, instead:

He's fallen sheer..."

Then, I sprang up; and cried: "Your son is here!"

And, taking up the sleeping boy,

I bore him to his father's arms:

And, as he nestled to his breast,

Kind life came back to those wild eyes;

And filled them with deep joy:

And, free of all alarms,

The son and father lay,

Together, in sweet rest,

While through the window stole the strange, clear light of day.

THE MONEY

They found her cold upon the bed.

The cause of death, the doctor said,

Was nothing save the lack of bread.

Her clothes were but a sorry rag

That barely hid the nakedness

Of her poor body's piteous wreck:

Yet, when they stripped her of her dress,

They found she was not penniless;

For, in a little silken bag,

Tied with red ribbon round her neck,

Was four-pound-seventeen-and-five.

"It seems a strange and shameful thing

That she should starve herself to death,

While she'd the means to keep alive.

Why, such a sum would keep the breath

Within her body till she'd found

A livelihood; and it would bring...

But, there is very little doubt

She'd set her heart upon a grand

And foolish funeral--for the pride

Of poor folk, who can understand!--

And so, because she was too proud

To meet death penniless, she died."

And talking, talking, they trooped out:

And, as they went, I turned about

To look upon her in her shroud;

And saw again the quiet face

That filled with light that shameful place,

Touched with the tender, youthful grace

Death brings the broken and outworn

To comfort kind hearts left to mourn.

And as I stood, the sum they'd found

Rang with a queer, familiar ring

Of some uncouth, uncanny sound

Heard in dark ages underground;

And "four-pound-seventeen-and-five"

Through all my body seemed to sing,

Without recalling anything

To help me, strive as I might strive.

But, as I stumbled down the stairs

Into the alley's gloom and stench--

A whiff of burning oil

That took me unawares--

And I knew all there was to tell.

And, though the rain in torrents fell,

I walked on, heedless, through the drench

And, all the while, I seemed to sit

Upon a tub in Lansel pit;

And in the candle-light to see

John Askerton, a "deputy,"

Who paused awhile to talk with me,

His kind face glistening black with toil.

"'Twas here I found him dead, beside

His engine. All the other men

Were up--for things were slack just then--

And I'd one foot upon the cage;

When, all at once, I caught the smell

Of burning. Even as I turned

To see what it could be that burned,

The seam behind was choked with stife.

And so I dropped on hands and knees,

And crawled along the gallery,

Beneath the smoke, that I might see

What ailed: and as I crept, half-blind,

With smarting eyes, and breath awheeze,

I scarcely knew what I should find.

At times, I thought I'd never know...

And 'twas already quite an age

Since I set out ... I felt as though

I had been crawling all my life

Beneath the stifling cloud of smoke

That clung about me fit to choke:

And when, at last, I'd struggled here,

'Twas long ere I could see things clear...

That he was lying here ... and he

Was dead ... and burning like a tree...

A tree-trunk soaked in oil ... No doubt,

The engine had caught fire, somehow;

And when he tried to put it out,

His greasy clothes had caught ... and now

As fine a lad as you could see...

And such a lad for singing ... I

Had heard him when I worked hard by;

And often quiet I would sit

To hear him, singing in the pit,

As though his heart knew naught of it,

And life was nothing but a song.

"He'd not been working with us long:

And little of his ways I knew:

But, when I'd got him up, at last;

And he was lying in the shed,

The sweet song silent in his breast;

And there was nothing more to do:

The notion came into my head

That he had always been well-dressed;

And seemed a neat and thrifty lad...

And lived in lodgings ... so, maybe,

Would carry on him all he had.

So, back into the cage I stepped:

And, when it reached the bottom, crept

Along the gallery again

And, in the dust where he had lain,

I rummaged, until I found all

That from his burning pockets fell.

And when it seemed there was no more,

I thought how, happy and alive,

And recking naught what might befall,

He, too, for all that I could tell,

Just where I stood, had reckoned o'er

That four-pound-seventeen-and-five.

"Aye, like enough ... for soon we heard

That in a week he'd looked to wed.

He'd meant to give the girl that night

The money to buy furniture.

She came, and watched till morning-light

Beside the body in the shed:

Then rose: and took, without a word,

The money he had left for her."

                         *      *      *      *      *

Then, as I wandered through the rain,

I seemed to stand in awe again

Beside that lonely garret-bed.

And it was good to think the dead

Had known the wealth she would not spend

To keep a little while alive--

His four-pound-seventeen-and-five--

Would buy her houseroom in the end.

THE SNOW

Just as the school came out,

The first white flakes were drifting round about:

And all the children shouted with delight

To see such flakes, so big, so white,

Tumbling from a cloud so black,

And whirling helter-skelter

Across the windy moor:

And as they saw the light flakes race,

Started off in headlong chase,

Swooping on them with a shout,

When they seemed to drop for shelter

Underneath the dry-stone wall.

And then the master, at the schoolhouse door,

Called out to them to hurry home, before

The storm should come on worse: and watched till all

Had started off by road or moorland track:

When, turning to his wife, he said:

It looked like dirty weather overhead:

He thought 'twould be a heavy fall,

And threatened for a roughish night;

But they would all reach home in broad daylight.

'Twas early, yet; he'd let the school out soon;

As it had looked so lowering since forenoon;

And many had a goodish step to go:

And it was but ill-travelling in the snow.

Then by the fire he settled down to read;

And to the weather paid no further heed.

And, on their road home, full three miles away,

John, and his little sister, Janey, started;

And, at the setting out, were happy-hearted

To be let loose into a world so gay,

With jolly winds and frisking flakes at play

That flicked your cheek, and whistled in your teeth:

And now hard on each other's heels they darted

To catch a flake that floated like a feather,

Then dropt to nestle in a clump of heather;

And often tumbled both together

Into a deep delicious bed

Of brown and springy heath.

But, when the sky grew blacker overhead,

As if it were the coming on of night,

And every little hill, well-known to sight,

Looked big and strange in its new fleece of white;

And as yet faster and more thickly

The big flakes fell,

To John the thought came that it might be well

To hurry home; so, striding on before,

He set a steady face across the moor;

And called to Janey she must come more quickly.

The wind soon dropped: and fine and dry the snow

Came whispering down about them, as they trudged

And, when they'd travelled for a mile or so,

They found it ankle-deep: for here the storm

Had started long before it reached the school:

And, as he felt the dry flakes tingling warm

Upon his cheek, and set him all aglow,

John in his manly pride, a little grudged

That now and then he had to wait awhile

For Janey, lagging like a little fool:

But, when they'd covered near another mile

Through that bewildering white without a sound,

Save rustling, rustling, rustling all around;

And all his well-known world, so queer and dim,

He waited until she caught up to him;

And felt quite glad that he was not alone.

And when they reached the low, half-buried stone

That marked where some old shepherd had been found,

Lost in the snow in seeking his lost sheep,

One wild March night, full forty years ago,

He wished, and wished, that they were safe and sound

In their own house: and as the snow got deeper,

And every little bank seemed strangely steeper,

He thought, and thought of that lost sleeper;

And saw him lying in the snow,

Till every fleecy clump of heath

Seemed to shroud a man beneath;

And now his blood went hot and cold

Through very fear of that dread sight;

And then he felt that, in sheer fright,

He must take to his heels in flight,

He cared not whither, so that it might be

Where there were no more bundles, cold and white,

Like sheeted bodies, plain to see.

And, all on edge, he turned to chide

His sister, dragging at his side:

But, when he found that she was crying,

Because her feet and hands were cold,

He quite forgot to scold:

And spoke kind words of cheer to her:

And saw no more dead shepherds lying

In any snowy clump of heather.

So, hand in hand, they trudged together,

Through that strange world of drifting gloam,

Sharp-set and longing sore for home.

And John remembered how that morning,

When they set out the sky was blue--

Clean, cloudless blue; and gave no warning;

And how through air as clear as glass,

The far-off hills he knew

Looked strangely near; and glittered brightly;

Each sprig of heath and blade of grass

In the cold wind blowing lightly,

Each clump of green and crimson moss

Sparkling in the wintry sun.

But now, as they toiled home, across

These unfamiliar fells, nigh done,

The wind again began to blow;

And thicker, thicker fell the snow:

Till Janey sank, too numb to stir:

When John stooped down, and lifted her,

To carry her upon his back.

And then his head began to tire:

And soon he seemed to lose the track...

And now the world was all afire...

Now dazzling white, now dazzling black...

And then, through some strange land of light,

Where clouds of butterflies all white,

Fluttered and flickered all about,

Dancing ever in and out,

He wandered, blinded by white wings,

That rustled, rustled in his ears

With cold, uncanny whisperings...

And then it seemed his bones must crack

With that dead weight upon his back...

When, on his cheek, he felt warm tears,

And a cold tangle of wet hair;

And knew 'twas Janey weeping there:

And, taking heart, he stumbled on,

While in his breast the hearthlight shone:

And it was all of his desire

To sit once more before the fire;

And feel the friendly glowing heat.

But, as he strove with fumbling feet,

It seemed that he would never find

Again that cheery hearth and kind;

But wander ever, bent and blind,

Beneath his burden through the night

Of dreadful, spangly, whispering white.

The wind rose; and the dry snow drifted

In little eddies round the track:

And when, at last, the dark cloud rifted,

He saw a strange lough, lying cold and black,

'Mid unknown, ghostly hills; and knew

That they were lost: and once again,

The snow closed in: and swept from view

The dead black water and strange fells.

But still he struggled on: and then,

When he seemed climbing up an endless steep

And ever slipping, sliding back,

With ankles aching like to crack,

And only longed for sleep;

He heard a tinkling sound of bells,

That kept on ringing, ringing, ringing,

Until his dizzy head was singing;

And he could think of nothing else:

And then it seemed the weight was lifted

From off his back; and on the ground

His sister stood, while, all around

Were giants clad in coats of wool,

With big, curled horns, and queer black faces,

Who bobbed and curtsied in their places,

With blazing eyes and strange grimaces;

But never made a sound;

Then nearly shook themselves to pieces,

Shedding round a smell of warm, wet fleeces:

Then one it seemed as if he knew,

Looking like the old lame ewe,

Began to bite his coat, and pull

Till he could hardly stand: its eyes

Glowing to a monstrous size,

Till they were like a lantern light

Burning brightly through the night...

When someone stooped from out the sky,

To rescue him; and set him high:

And he was riding, snug and warm,

In some king's chariot through the storm,

Without a sound of wheel or hoof--

In some king's chariot, filled with straw,

And he would nevermore be cold...

And then with wondering eyes he saw

Deep caverns of pure burning gold;

And knew himself in fairyland:

But when he stretched an eager hand

To touch the glowing walls, he felt

A queer warm puff, as though of fire...

And suddenly he smelt

The reek of peat; and looking higher,

He saw the old, black porridge-kettle,

Hanging from the cavern roof,

Hanging on its own black crook:

And he was lying on the settle,

While by his side,

With tender look,

His mother knelt;

And he had only one desire

In all the world; and 'twas to fling

His arms about her neck, and hide

His happy tears upon her breast.

And as to her he closely pressed,

He heard his merry father sing:

"There was a silly sleepyhead,

Who thought he'd like to go to bed:

So in a stell he went to sleep,

And snored among the other sheep."

And then his mother gently said:

"Nay, father: do not tease him now:

He's quite worn out: and needs a deal

Of quiet sleep: and, after all,

He brought his sister safe from school."

And now he felt her warm tears fall

Upon his cheek: and thrilled to feel

His father's hand on his hot brow,

And hear him say: "The lad's no fool."