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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Roots of the Mountains; Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale"

Neither shall we journey
in the mirk night; for look you, the moon yonder.'
'Well,' said Face-of-god, 'parting is ill at the best, and I would I
could give you twain a gift, and especially to thee, my sister Bow-
may.'
Said Wood-wise: 'Thou may'st well do that; or at least promise the
gift; and that is all one as if we held it in our hands.'
'Yea,' said Bow-may, 'Wood-wise and I have been thinking in one way
belike; and I was at point to ask a gift of thee.'
'What is it?' said Gold-mane. 'Surely it is thine, if it were but a
guerdon for thy good shooting.'
She laughed and handled the skirts of his hauberk as she said:
'Show us the dint in thine helm that the steel axe made this
morning.'
'There is no such great dint,' said he; 'my father forged that helm,
and his work is better than good.'
'Yea,' said Bow-may, 'and might I have hauberk and helm of his
handiwork, and Wood-wise a good sword of the same, then were I a glad
woman, and this man a happy carle.'
Said Gold-mane: 'I am well pleased at thine asking, and so shall
Iron-face be when he heareth of thine archery; and how that Hall-face
were now his only son but for thy close shooting.


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