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. Kenilworth by Walter Scott (libby ebook reader TXT) 📖
- Author: Walter Scott
Book online «Kenilworth by Walter Scott (libby ebook reader TXT) 📖». Author Walter Scott
The boy gave him a knowing side-look, which seemed to promise acquiescence, while at the same time he exclaimed, “I be your guide to Wayland Smith's! Why, man, did I not say that the devil might fly off with me, just as the kite there” (looking to the window) “is flying off with one of grandam's chicks?”
“The kite! the kite!” exclaimed the old woman in return, and forgetting all other matters in her alarm, hastened to the rescue of her chickens as fast as her old legs could carry her.
“Now for it,” said the urchin to Tressilian; “snatch your beaver, get out your horse, and have at the silver groat you spoke of.”
“Nay, but tarry, tarry,” said the preceptor—“SUFFLAMINA, RICARDE!”
“Tarry yourself,” said Dickie, “and think what answer you are to make to granny for sending me post to the devil.”
The teacher, aware of the responsibility he was incurring, bustled up in great haste to lay hold of the urchin and to prevent his departure; but Dickie slipped through his fingers, bolted from the cottage, and sped him to the top of a neighbouring rising ground, while the preceptor, despairing, by well-taught experience, of recovering his pupil by speed of foot, had recourse to the most honied epithets the Latin vocabulary affords to persuade his return. But to MI ANIME, CORCULUM MEUM, and all such classical endearments, the truant turned a deaf ear, and kept frisking on the top of the rising ground like a goblin by moonlight, making signs to his new acquaintance, Tressilian, to follow him.
The traveller lost no time in getting out his horse and departing to join his elvish guide, after half-forcing on the poor, deserted teacher a recompense for the entertainment he had received, which partly allayed that terror he had for facing the return of the old lady of the mansion. Apparently this took place soon afterwards; for ere Tressilian and his guide had proceeded far on their journey, they heard the screams of a cracked female voice, intermingled with the classical objurgations of Master Erasmus Holiday. But Dickie Sludge, equally deaf to the voice of maternal tenderness and of magisterial authority, skipped on unconsciously before Tressilian, only observing that “if they cried themselves hoarse, they might go lick the honey-pot, for he had eaten up all the honey-comb himself on yesterday even.”
CHAPTER X. There entering in, they found the goodman selfe Full busylie unto his work ybent, Who was to weet a wretched wearish elf, With hollow eyes and rawbone cheeks forspent, As if he had been long in prison pent.—THE FAERY QUEENE.
“Are we far from the dwelling of this smith, my pretty lad?” said Tressilian to his young guide.
“How is it you call me?” said the boy, looking askew at him with his sharp, grey eyes.
“I call you my pretty lad—is there any offence in that, my boy?”
“No; but were you with my grandam and Dominie Holiday, you might sing chorus to the old song of
'We three Tom-fools be.'”“And why so, my little man?” said Tressilian.
“Because,” answered the ugly urchin, “you are the only three ever called me pretty lad. Now my grandam does it because she is parcel blind by age, and whole blind by kindred; and my master, the poor Dominie, does it to curry favour, and have the fullest platter of furmity and the warmest seat by the fire. But what you call me pretty lad for, you know best yourself.”
“Thou art a sharp wag at least, if not a pretty one. But what do thy playfellows call thee?”
“Hobgoblin,” answered the boy readily; “but for all that, I would rather have my own ugly viznomy than any of their jolter-heads, that have no more brains in them than a brick-bat.”
“Then you fear not this smith whom you are going to see?”
“Me fear him!” answered the boy. “If he were the devil folk think him, I would not fear him; but though there is something queer about him, he's no more a devil than you are, and that's what I would not tell to every one.”
“And why do you tell it to me, then, my boy?” said Tressilian.
“Because you are another guess gentleman than those we see here every day,” replied Dickie; “and though I am as ugly as sin, I would not have you think me an ass, especially as I may have a boon to ask of you one day.”
“And what is that, my lad, whom I must not call pretty?” replied Tressilian.
“Oh, if I were to ask it just now,” said the boy, “you would deny it me; but I will wait till we meet at court.”
“At court, Richard! are you bound for court?” said Tressilian.
“Ay, ay, that's just like the rest of them,” replied the boy. “I warrant me, you think, what should such an ill-favoured, scrambling urchin do at court? But let Richard Sludge alone; I have not been cock of the roost here for nothing. I will make sharp wit mend foul feature.”
“But what will your grandam say, and your tutor, Dominie Holiday?”
“E'en what they like,” replied Dickie; “the one has her chickens to reckon, and the other has his boys to whip. I would have given them the candle to hold long since, and shown this trumpery hamlet a fair pair of heels, but that Dominie promises I should go with him to bear share in the next pageant he is to set forth, and they say there are to be great revels shortly.”
“And whereabouts are they to be held, my little friend?” said Tressilian.
“Oh, at some castle far in the north,” answered his guide—“a world's breadth from Berkshire. But our old Dominie holds that they cannot go forward without him; and it may be he is right, for he has put in order many a fair pageant. He is not half the fool you would take him for, when he gets to work he understands; and so he can spout verses like a play-actor, when, God wot, if you set him to steal a goose's egg, he would be drubbed by the gander.”
“And you are to play a part in his next show?” said Tressilian, somewhat interested by the boy's boldness of conversation and shrewd estimate of character.
“In faith,” said Richard Sludge, in answer, “he hath so promised me; and if he break his word, it will be the worse for him, for let me take the bit between my teeth, and turn my head downhill, and I will shake him off with a fall that may harm his bones. And I should not like much to hurt him neither,” said he, “for the tiresome old fool has painfully laboured to teach me all he could. But enough of that—here are we at Wayland Smith's forge-door.”
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