Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Harbor Tales Down North by Norman Duncan (top 5 books to read txt) 📖
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back in a flash o' time as soon as love beckoned a finger.
"'I loves un, Toby!' says she. 'I jus' can't help it.'
"'He've poor timber in his soul,' says I.
"She'd have none o' that! 'Oh no,' says she; 'he jus' needs--me.'
"'A poor stick for looks,' says I.
"'Ah, but,' says she, 'you didn't know un when he was _young_, Toby.'
"'Pst!' says I. 'An' he've kep' you waitin' a long time.'
"'It haven't been hard t' wait,' says she; 'for I jus' _knowed_ he'd come--when ready.'
"'I'll fetch Skipper Davy this night.'
"'Ay,' says she. 'I'm--wonderful happy.'
"'There'll be guns goin' at a weddin' in Rickity Tickle afore long,' says I, 'I'll be bound!'
"She laughed like a maid o' sixteen. 'An', ecod!' says she, 'I got a new muslin all ready t' wear!'
* * * * *
"It rained on Rickity Tickle that night: no lusty downpour--a mean, sad drizzle o' cold mist. The road t' Gull Island Cove was dark as death--sodden underfoot an' clammy with wet alder-leaves. Skipper Davy come with fair courage, laggin' a bit by the way, in the way o' lovers, thinks I, at such times. An' I'd my hand fair on the knob o' Mary Land's door--an' was jus' about t' push in--when Skipper Davy all at once cotched me by the elbow an' pulled me back t' the shadows.
"'Hist!' says he.
"'Ay?'
"'Did you--tell her outright--that I'd _take_ her?'
"'Ay, sure!'
"'No help for it, Tumm?'
"'God's sake!' says I.
"'I--I--I won't!' says he.
"An' he fled--ay, took t' the heels of un, an' went stumblin' over the road t' Rickity Tickle in the dark. I listened--helpless there at Mary Land's door--while he floundered off beyond hearin'. An' 'twas hard--a thing as bitter as perdition--t' tell Mary Land that he'd gone. T' break her heart again! God's sake! But she said: 'Hush, Toby! Don't you mind for me. I--I'm not mindin'--much. I'm used--t' waitin'.' An' then I made off for Davy Junk's spick-an'-span cottage by Blow-Me t' speak the words in my heart. Slippery rock an' splash o' mud underfoot--an' clammy alder-leaves by the wayside--an' the world in a cold drench o' misty rain--an' the night as dark as death--an' rage an' grief beyond measure in my heart. An' at last I come t' Davy Junk's cottage by Blow-Me, an' forthwith pushed in t' the kitchen. An' there sot Davy Junk, snuggled up to his own fire, his face in his hands, woebegone an' hateful of hisself an' all the world--his soul lost, not because he'd failed in love for a maid, or worked woe in a woman's heart, but because in fear o' the world he'd lived all his years in despite o' love, an' love had left un for good an' all, t' make the best of his way alone through the world he feared. He'd not look at me at all, but shifted in his chair, an' rubbed his hands, an' snuggled closer to his own fire, an' whimpered what I couldn't make out. Nor would I speak t' he afore he turned t' face me--though I'd hard labor enough t' keep my words in my throat. Whatever an' all, at last he turned. An' 'twas the old Davy Junk come t' Rickity Tickle again--the beast o' fear peerin' out from his soul through his little, mean eyes. An' I might have loathed un then--had I not pitied un so greatly.
"'I made a mistake, Tumm,' says he.
"'Ay, Skipper Davy.'
"'This here world's a wolf's world,' says he, with his teeth bared. 'An', damme, I got enough t' do t' fend for myself!'
"'Skipper Davy,' says I, 'you go t' hell!'
"'Twas the first oath ever I uttered with intention. An' I ran straightway t' Billy Tot's cottage--t' cure the taste o' the thing on my lips--an' t' ease the grief in my heart--an' t' find some new store o' faith for my soul. An' I kissed Bessie Tot fair on her rosy check in the middle o' the kitchen floor without carin' a jot who seed me."
It was the end of the yarn of Davy Junk, of Dirty-Face Bight; but Skipper Jim, of the _Quick as Wink_, being of a curious turn, presently inquired:
"What become o' Davy?"
"Lost with the _Word o' the Lord_," Tumm replied, "with all hands aboard."
"Went down in wreck," the skipper observed, "an' left nothin' but a tale."
"A tale with a moral," said I.
"Ay, an' t' be sure!" Skipper Jim agreed. "Davy Junk left a tale--with a moral."
"Damme!" Tumm exploded, "'tis as much as most men leaves!"
And the little stars winked their own knowledge and perfect understanding of the whole affair.
Imprint
"'I loves un, Toby!' says she. 'I jus' can't help it.'
"'He've poor timber in his soul,' says I.
"She'd have none o' that! 'Oh no,' says she; 'he jus' needs--me.'
"'A poor stick for looks,' says I.
"'Ah, but,' says she, 'you didn't know un when he was _young_, Toby.'
"'Pst!' says I. 'An' he've kep' you waitin' a long time.'
"'It haven't been hard t' wait,' says she; 'for I jus' _knowed_ he'd come--when ready.'
"'I'll fetch Skipper Davy this night.'
"'Ay,' says she. 'I'm--wonderful happy.'
"'There'll be guns goin' at a weddin' in Rickity Tickle afore long,' says I, 'I'll be bound!'
"She laughed like a maid o' sixteen. 'An', ecod!' says she, 'I got a new muslin all ready t' wear!'
* * * * *
"It rained on Rickity Tickle that night: no lusty downpour--a mean, sad drizzle o' cold mist. The road t' Gull Island Cove was dark as death--sodden underfoot an' clammy with wet alder-leaves. Skipper Davy come with fair courage, laggin' a bit by the way, in the way o' lovers, thinks I, at such times. An' I'd my hand fair on the knob o' Mary Land's door--an' was jus' about t' push in--when Skipper Davy all at once cotched me by the elbow an' pulled me back t' the shadows.
"'Hist!' says he.
"'Ay?'
"'Did you--tell her outright--that I'd _take_ her?'
"'Ay, sure!'
"'No help for it, Tumm?'
"'God's sake!' says I.
"'I--I--I won't!' says he.
"An' he fled--ay, took t' the heels of un, an' went stumblin' over the road t' Rickity Tickle in the dark. I listened--helpless there at Mary Land's door--while he floundered off beyond hearin'. An' 'twas hard--a thing as bitter as perdition--t' tell Mary Land that he'd gone. T' break her heart again! God's sake! But she said: 'Hush, Toby! Don't you mind for me. I--I'm not mindin'--much. I'm used--t' waitin'.' An' then I made off for Davy Junk's spick-an'-span cottage by Blow-Me t' speak the words in my heart. Slippery rock an' splash o' mud underfoot--an' clammy alder-leaves by the wayside--an' the world in a cold drench o' misty rain--an' the night as dark as death--an' rage an' grief beyond measure in my heart. An' at last I come t' Davy Junk's cottage by Blow-Me, an' forthwith pushed in t' the kitchen. An' there sot Davy Junk, snuggled up to his own fire, his face in his hands, woebegone an' hateful of hisself an' all the world--his soul lost, not because he'd failed in love for a maid, or worked woe in a woman's heart, but because in fear o' the world he'd lived all his years in despite o' love, an' love had left un for good an' all, t' make the best of his way alone through the world he feared. He'd not look at me at all, but shifted in his chair, an' rubbed his hands, an' snuggled closer to his own fire, an' whimpered what I couldn't make out. Nor would I speak t' he afore he turned t' face me--though I'd hard labor enough t' keep my words in my throat. Whatever an' all, at last he turned. An' 'twas the old Davy Junk come t' Rickity Tickle again--the beast o' fear peerin' out from his soul through his little, mean eyes. An' I might have loathed un then--had I not pitied un so greatly.
"'I made a mistake, Tumm,' says he.
"'Ay, Skipper Davy.'
"'This here world's a wolf's world,' says he, with his teeth bared. 'An', damme, I got enough t' do t' fend for myself!'
"'Skipper Davy,' says I, 'you go t' hell!'
"'Twas the first oath ever I uttered with intention. An' I ran straightway t' Billy Tot's cottage--t' cure the taste o' the thing on my lips--an' t' ease the grief in my heart--an' t' find some new store o' faith for my soul. An' I kissed Bessie Tot fair on her rosy check in the middle o' the kitchen floor without carin' a jot who seed me."
It was the end of the yarn of Davy Junk, of Dirty-Face Bight; but Skipper Jim, of the _Quick as Wink_, being of a curious turn, presently inquired:
"What become o' Davy?"
"Lost with the _Word o' the Lord_," Tumm replied, "with all hands aboard."
"Went down in wreck," the skipper observed, "an' left nothin' but a tale."
"A tale with a moral," said I.
"Ay, an' t' be sure!" Skipper Jim agreed. "Davy Junk left a tale--with a moral."
"Damme!" Tumm exploded, "'tis as much as most men leaves!"
And the little stars winked their own knowledge and perfect understanding of the whole affair.
Imprint
Publication Date: 06-01-2010
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