In the meantime the elder son rode into the world to find the touchstone
of the trial of truth; and whenever he came to a place of habitation, he
would ask the men if they had heard of it.  And in every place the men
answered: "Not only have we heard of it, but we alone, of all men,
possess the thing itself, and it hangs in the side of our chimney to this
day".  Then would the elder son be glad, and beg for a sight of it.  And
sometimes it would be a piece of mirror, that showed the seeming of
things; and then he would say, "This can never be, for there should be
more than seeming".  And sometimes it would be a lump of coal, which
showed nothing; and then he would say, "This can never be, for at least
there is the seeming".  And sometimes it would be a touchstone indeed,
beautiful in hue, adorned with polishing, the light inhabiting its sides;
and when he found this, he would beg the thing, and the persons of that
place would give it him, for all men were very generous of that gift; so
that at the last he had his wallet full of them, and they chinked
together when he rode; and when he halted by the side of the way he would
take them out and try them, till his head turned like the sails upon a
windmill.

"A murrain upon this business!" said the elder son, "for I perceive no
end to it.  Here I have the red, and here the blue and the green; and to
me they seem all excellent, and yet shame each other.  A murrain on the
trade!  If it were not for the King that is a priest and whom I have
called my father, and if it were not for the fair maid of the dun that
makes my mouth to sing and my heart enlarge, I would even tumble them all
into the salt sea, and go home and be a King like other folk."

But he was like the hunter that has seen a stag upon a mountain, so that
the night may fall, and the fire be kindled, and the lights shine in his
house; but desire of that stag is single in his bosom.

Now after many years the elder son came upon the sides of the salt sea;
and it was night, and a savage place, and the clamour of the sea was
loud.  There he was aware of a house, and a man that sat there by the
light of a candle, for he had no fire.  Now the elder son came in to him,
and the man gave him water to drink, for he had no bread; and wagged his
head when he was spoken to, for he had no words.

"Have you the touchstone of truth?" asked the elder son and when the man
had wagged his head, "I might have known that," cried the elder son.  "I
have here a wallet full of them!"  And with that he laughed, although his
heart was weary.

And with that the man laughed too, and with the fuff of his laughter the
candle went out.

"Sleep," said the man, "for now I think you have come far enough; and
your quest is ended, and my candle is out."

Now when the morning came, the man gave him a clear pebble in his hand,
and it had no beauty and no colour; and the elder son looked upon it
scornfully and shook his head; and he went away, for it seemed a small
affair to him.

All that day he rode, and his mind was quiet, and the desire of the chase
allayed.  "How if this poor pebble be the touchstone, after all?" said
he: and he got down from his horse, and emptied forth his wallet by the
side of the way.  Now, in the light of each other, all the touchstones
lost their hue and fire, and withered like stars at morning; but in the
light of the pebble, their beauty remained, only the pebble was the most
bright.  And the elder son smote upon his brow.  "How if this be the
truth?" he cried, "that all are a little true?"  And he took the pebble,
and turned its light upon the heavens, and they deepened about him like
the pit; and he turned it on the hills, and the hills were cold and
rugged, but life ran in their sides so that his own life bounded; and he
turned it on the dust, and he beheld the dust with joy and terror; and he
turned it on himself, and kneeled down and prayed.

"Now, thanks be to God," said the elder son, "I have found the
touchstone; and now I may turn my reins, and ride home to the King and to
the maid of the dun that makes my mouth to sing and my heart enlarge."

Now when he came to the dun, he saw children playing by the gate where
the King had met him in the old days; and this stayed his pleasure, for
he thought in his heart, "It is here my children should be playing".  And
when he came into the hall, there was his brother on the high seat and
the maid beside him; and at that his anger rose, for he thought in his
heart, "It is I that should be sitting there, and the maid beside me".

"Who are you?" said his brother.  "And what make you in the dun?"

"I am your elder brother," he replied.  "And I am come to marry the maid,
for I have brought the touchstone of truth."

Then the younger brother laughed aloud.  "Why," said he, "I found the
touchstone years ago, and married the maid, and there are our children
playing at the gate."

Now at this the elder brother grew as gray as the dawn.  "I pray you have
dealt justly," said he, "for I perceive my life is lost."

"Justly?" quoth the younger brother.  "It becomes you ill, that are a
restless man and a runagate, to doubt my justice, or the King my
father's, that are sedentary folk and known in the land."

"Nay," said the elder brother, "you have all else, have patience also;
and suffer me to say the world is full of touchstones, and it appears not
easily which is true."

"I have no shame of mine," said the younger brother.  "There it is, and
look in it."

So the elder brother looked in the mirror, and he was sore amazed; for he
was an old man, and his hair was white upon his head; and he sat down in
the hall and wept aloud.

"Now," said the younger brother, "see what a fool's part you have played,
that ran over all the world to seek what was lying in our father's
treasury, and came back an old carle for the dogs to bark at, and without
chick or child.  And I that was dutiful and wise sit here crowned with
virtues and pleasures, and happy in the light of my hearth."

"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 withinside's she was quite dead, and she smiled as a clock ticks, and
knew not wherefore.

"Oh, 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 hate 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."

So the man rose and put forth his boat at the time of the sunsetting; and
the Poor Thing sat in the prow, and the spray blew through his bones like
snow, and the wind whistled in his teeth, and the boat dipped not with
the weight of him.

"I am fearful to see you, my son," said the man.  "For methinks you are
no thing of God."

"It is only the wind that whistles in my teeth," said the Poor Thing,
"and there is no life in me to keep it out."

So they came to the little isle of sheep, where the surf burst all about
it in the midst of the sea, and it was all green with bracken, and all
wet with dew, and the moon enlightened it.  They ran the boat into a
cove, and set foot to land; and the man came heavily behind among the
rocks in the deepness of the bracken, but the Poor Thing went before him
like a smoke in the light of the moon.  So they came to the dead-cairn,
and they laid their ears to the stones; and the dead complained
withinsides like a swarm of bees: "Time was that marrow was in our bones,
and strength in our sinews; and the thoughts of our head were clothed
upon with acts and the words of men.  But now are we broken in sunder,
and the bonds of our bones are loosed, and our thoughts lie in the dust."

Then said the Poor Thing: "Charge them that they give you the virtue they
withheld".

And the man said: "Bones of my fathers, greeting! for I am sprung of your
loins.  And now, behold, I break open the piled stones of your cairn, and
I let in the noon between your ribs.  Count it well done, for it was to
be; and give me what I come seeking in the name of blood and in the name
of God."

And the spirits of the dead stirred in the cairn like ants; and they
spoke: "You have broken the roof of our cairn and let in the noon between
our ribs; and you have the strength of the still-living.  But what virtue
have we? what power? or what jewel here in the dust with us, that any
living man should covet or receive it? for we are less than nothing.  But
we tell you one thing, speaking with many voices like bees, that the way
is plain before all like the grooves of launching: So forth into life and
fear not, for so did we all in the ancient ages."  And their voices
passed away like an eddy in a river.

"Now," said the Poor Thing, "they have told you a lesson, but make them
give you a gift.  Stoop your hand among the bones without drawback, and
you shall find their treasure."

So the man stooped his hand, and the dead laid hold upon it many and
faint like ants; but he shook them off, and behold, what he brought up in
his hand was the shoe of a horse, and it was rusty.

"It is a thing of no price," quoth the man, "for it is rusty."

"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 horseshoe, 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 a 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--"

"Oh, 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 horseshoe?" 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 within 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."

So the King's daughter sat in her vaulted chamber in the masoned house,
and she thought upon the thought.  Nine years she sat; and the sea beat
upon the terrace, and the gulls cried about the turrets, and wind crooned
in the chimneys of the house.  Nine years she came not abroad, nor tasted
the clean air, neither saw God's sky.  Nine years she sat and looked
neither to the right nor to the left, nor heard speech of any one, but
thought upon the thought of the morrow.  And her nurse fed her in
silence, and she took of the food with her left hand, and ate it without
grace.

Now when the nine years were out, it fell dusk in the autumn, and there
came a sound in the wind like a sound of piping.  At that the nurse
lifted up her finger in the vaulted house.

"I hear a sound in the wind," said she, "that is like the sound of
piping."

"It is but a little sound," said the King's daughter, "but yet is it
sound enough for me."

So they went down in the dusk to the doors of the house, and along the
beach of the sea.  And the waves beat upon the one hand, and upon the
other the dead leaves ran; and the clouds raced in the sky, and the gulls
flew widdershins.  And when they came to that part of the beach where
strange things had been done in the ancient ages, lo, there was the
crone, and she was dancing widdershins.

"What makes you dance widdershins, old crone?" said the King's daughter;
"here upon the bleak beach, between the waves and the dead leaves?"

"I hear a sound in the wind that is like a sound of piping," quoth she.
"And it is for that that I dance widdershins.  For the gift comes that
will make you bare, and the man comes that must bring you care.  But for
me the morrow is come that I have thought upon, and the hour of my
power."

"How comes it, crone," said the King's daughter, "that you waver like a
rag, and pale like a dead leaf before my eyes?"

"Because the morrow has come that I have thought upon, and the hour of my
power," said the crone; and she fell on the beach, and, lo! she was but
stalks of the sea tangle, and dust of the sea sand, and the sand lice
hopped upon the place of her.

"This is the strangest thing that befell between two seas," said the
King's daughter of Duntrine.

But the nurse broke out and moaned like an autumn gale.  "I am weary of
the wind," quoth she; and she bewailed her day.

The King's daughter was aware of a man upon the beach; he went hooded so
that none might perceive his face, and a pipe was underneath his arm.  The
sound of his pipe was like singing wasps, and like the wind that sings in
windlestraw; and it took hold upon men's ears like the crying of gulls.

"Are you the comer?" quoth the King's daughter of Duntrine.

"I am the corner," said he, "and these are the pipes that a man may hear,
and I have power upon the hour, and this is the song of the morrow."  And
he piped the song of the morrow, and it was as long as years; and the
nurse wept out aloud at the hearing of it.

"This is true," said the King's daughter, "that you pipe the song of the
morrow; but that ye have power upon the hour, how may I know that?  Show
me a marvel here upon the beach, between the waves and the dead leaves."

And the man said, "Upon whom?"

"Here is my nurse," quoth the King's daughter.  "She is weary of the
wind.  Show me a good marvel upon her."

And, lo! the nurse fell upon the beach as it were two handfuls of dead
leaves, and the wind whirled them widdershins, and the sand lice hopped
between.

"It is true," said the King's daughter of Duntrine, "you are the comer,
and you have power upon the hour.  Come with me to my stone house."

So they went by the sea margin, and the man piped the song of the morrow,
and the leaves followed behind them as they went.

Then they sat down together; and the sea beat on the terrace, and the
gulls cried about the towers, and the wind crooned in the chimneys of the
house.  Nine years they sat, and every year when it fell autumn, the man
said, "This is the hour, and I have power in it"; and the daughter of the
King said, "Nay, but pipe me the song of the morrow".  And he piped it,
and it was long like years.

Now when the nine years were gone, the King's daughter of Duntrine got
her to her feet, like one that remembers; and she looked about her in the
masoned house; and all her servants were gone; only the man that piped
sat upon the terrace with the hand upon his face; and as he piped the
leaves ran about the terrace and the sea beat along the wall.  Then she
cried to him with a great voice, "This is the hour, and let me see the
power in it".  And with that the wind blew off the hood from the man's
face, and, lo! there was no man there, only the clothes and the hood and
the pipes tumbled one upon another in a corner of the terrace, and the
dead leaves ran over them.

And the King's daughter of Duntrine got her to that part of the beach
where strange things had been done in the ancient ages; and there she sat
her down.  The sea foam ran to her feet, and the dead leaves swarmed
about her back, and the veil blew about her face in the blowing of the
wind.  And when she lifted up her eyes, there was the daughter of a King
come walking on the beach.  Her hair was like the spun gold, and her eyes
like pools in a river, and she had no thought for the morrow and no power
upon the hour, after the manner of simple men.