"Alas that thou shouldst talk so," said a carle, rising up from the
warm sand; "what shall all thy toil win thee?"
Spake Hallblithe: "Maybe a merry heart, or maybe death."
At that word they all rose up together, and stood huddled together
like sheep that have been driven to the croft-gate, and the shepherd
hath left them for a little and they know not whither to go. Little
by little they got them to the wain and harnessed their beasts
thereto, and departed silently by the way that they had come; but in
a little time Hallblithe heard their laughter and merry speech across
the flowery meadows. He heeded their departure little, but went on
working, and worked the sun down, and on till the stars began to
twinkle. Then he went home to his house in the wood, and slept and
dreamed not, and began again on the morrow with a good heart.
To be short, no day passed that he wrought not his full tale of work,
and the days wore, and his ship-wright's work throve. Often the folk
of that house, and from otherwhere round about, came down to the
strand to watch him working. Nowise did they wilfully hinder him,
but whiles when they could get no talk from him, they would speak of
him to each other, wondering that he should so toil to sail upon the
sea; for they loved the sea but little, and it soon became clear to
them that he was looking to nought else: though it may not be said
that they deemed he would leave the land for ever.
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