The Sword of Welleran and Other Stories

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Bol he north wind was blowing, and red and golden the last days of Au-tumn were streaming hence. Solemn and cold over the marshes arosethe evening.It became very still.Then the last pigeon went home to the trees on the dry land in the distance, whose shapes already had taken upon themselves a mystery in the haze.Then all was still again.As the light faded and the haze deepened, mystery crept nearer from everyside.Then the green plover came in crying, and all alighted.And again it became still, save when one of the plover arose and flew a littleway uttering the cry of the waste. And hushed and silent became the earth, expecting the first star. Then the duck came in, and the widgeon, companyby company: and all the light of day faded out of the sky saving one red bandof light. Across the light appeared, black and huge, the wings of a flock of3 LORD DUNSANYgeese beating up wind to the marshes. These, too, went down among therushes.Then the stars appeared and shone in the stillness, and there was silence inthe great spaces of the night.Suddenly the bells of the cathedral in the marshes broke out, calling to even-song.Eight centuries ago on the edge of the marsh men had built the huge cathe-dral, or it may have been seven centuries ago, or perhaps nine-it was all oneto the Wild Things.So evensong was held, and candles lighted, and the lights through the win-dows shone red and green in the water, and the sound of the organ wentroaring over the marshes. But from the deep and perilous places, edged withbright mosses, the Wild Things came leaping up to dance on the reflectionof the stars, and over their heads as they danced the marsh-lights rose andfell.The Wild Things are somewhat human in appearance, only all brown ofskin and barely two feet high. Their ears are pointed like the squirrel's, onlyfar larger, and they leap to prodigious heights. They live all day under deeppools in the loneliest marshes, but at night they come up and dance. EachWild Thing has over its head a marsh-light, which moves as the Wild Thing

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he north wind was blowing, and red and golden the last days of Au-tumn were streaming hence. Solemn and cold over the marshes arosethe evening.It became very still.Then the last pigeon went home to the trees on the dry land in the distance, whose shapes already had taken upon themselves a mystery in the haze.Then all was still again.As the light faded and the haze deepened, mystery crept nearer from everyside.Then the green plover came in crying, and all alighted.And again it became still, save when one of the plover arose and flew a littleway uttering the cry of the waste. And hushed and silent became the earth, expecting the first star. Then the duck came in, and the widgeon, companyby company: and all the light of day faded out of the sky saving one red bandof light. Across the light appeared, black and huge, the wings of a flock of3 LORD DUNSANYgeese beating up wind to the marshes. These, too, went down among therushes.Then the stars appeared and shone in the stillness, and there was silence inthe great spaces of the night.Suddenly the bells of the cathedral in the marshes broke out, calling to even-song.Eight centuries ago on the edge of the marsh men had built the huge cathe-dral, or it may have been seven centuries ago, or perhaps nine-it was all oneto the Wild Things.So evensong was held, and candles lighted, and the lights through the win-dows shone red and green in the water, and the sound of the organ wentroaring over the marshes. But from the deep and perilous places, edged withbright mosses, the Wild Things came leaping up to dance on the reflectionof the stars, and over their heads as they danced the marsh-lights rose andfell.The Wild Things are somewhat human in appearance, only all brown ofskin and barely two feet high. Their ears are pointed like the squirrel's, onlyfar larger, and they leap to prodigious heights. They live all day under deeppools in the loneliest marshes, but at night they come up and dance. EachWild Thing has over its head a marsh-light, which moves as the Wild Thing


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Merk Millers Print
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