The Were-Wolf

The Were-Wolf

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Illustrated by Laurence Housman
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Title: The Were-Wolf
Author: Clemence Housman
Release Date: August 7, 2004 [eBook #13131]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
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THE WERE-WOLF
by
CLEMENCE HOUSMAN
With Six Illustrations by Laurence Housman
1896

[Illustration: Holy Water]

TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF E.W.P.
"YOU WILL THINK OF ME SOMETIMES, MY DEAR?"

LIST OF PLATES
Holy Water Rol's Worship White Fell's Escape The Race The Finish
Sweyn's Finding

THE WERE-WOLF
The great farm hall was ablaze with the fire-light, and noisy with
laughter and talk and many-sounding work. None could be idle but the
very young and the very old: little Rol, who was hugging a puppy, and
old Trella, whose palsied hand fumbled over her knitting. The early
evening had closed in, and the farm-servants, come from their outdoor
work, had assembled in the ample hall, which gave space for a score or
more of workers. Several of the men were engaged in carving, and to
these were yielded the best place and light; others made or repaired

fishing-tackle and harness, and a great seine net occupied three pairs of
hands. Of the women most were sorting and mixing eider feather and
chopping straw to add to it. Looms were there, though not in present
use, but three wheels whirred emulously, and the finest and swiftest
thread of the three ran between the fingers of the house-mistress. Near
her were some children, busy too, plaiting wicks for candles and lamps.
Each group of workers had a lamp in its centre, and those farthest from
the fire had live heat from two braziers filled with glowing wood
embers, replenished now and again from the generous hearth. But the
flicker of the great fire was manifest to remotest corners, and prevailed
beyond the limits of the weaker lights.
Little Rol grew tired of his puppy, dropped it incontinently, and made
an onslaught on Tyr, the old wolf-hound, who basked dozing,
whimpering and twitching in his hunting dreams. Prone went Rol
beside Tyr, his young arms round the shaggy neck, his curls against the
black jowl. Tyr gave a perfunctory lick, and stretched with a sleepy
sigh. Rol growled and rolled and shoved invitingly, but could only gain
from the old dog placid toleration and a half-observant blink. "Take
that then!" said Rol, indignant at this ignoring of his advances, and sent
the puppy sprawling against the dignity that disdained him as playmate.
The dog took no notice, and the child wandered off to find amusement
elsewhere.
The baskets of white eider feathers caught his eye far off in a distant
corner. He slipped under the table, and crept along on all-fours, the
ordinary common-place custom of walking down a room upright not
being to his fancy. When close to the women he lay still for a moment
watching, with his elbows on the floor and his chin in his palms. One of
the women seeing him nodded and smiled, and presently he crept out
behind her skirts and passed, hardly noticed, from one to another, till he
found opportunity to possess himself of a large handful of feathers.
With these he traversed the length of the room, under the table again,
and emerged near the spinners. At the feet of the youngest he curled
himself round, sheltered by her knees from the observation of the
others, and disarmed her of interference by secretly displaying his
handful with a confiding smile. A dubious nod satisfied him, and

presently he started on the play he had devised. He took a tuft of the
white down, and gently shook it free of his fingers close to the whirl of
the wheel. The wind of the swift motion took it, spun it round and
round in widening circles, till it floated above like a slow white moth.
Little Rol's eyes danced, and the row of his small teeth shone in a silent
laugh of delight. Another and another of the white tufts was sent
whirling round like a winged thing in a spider's web, and floating clear
at last. Presently the handful failed.
Rol sprawled forward to survey the room, and contemplate another
journey under the table. His shoulder, thrusting forward,