“Verily do I to say unto thee, this, the power of the fairies’ wand, is thine, thy gift of thy field-mother, Earth. Then cast out that which earth-lands do offer unto thee and flee with thy gift.”
It is somewhat difficult to select an ending for this chapter on the prose of Patience: the material for it is so abundant and so varied, but this “Parable of the Cloak” may perhaps form a fitting finish:
“There wert a man, and lo, he did to seek and quest o’ sage, that which he did mouth o’ermuch. And lo, he did to weave o’ such an robe, and did to clothe himself therein. And lo, ’twer sun ashut away, and cool and heat and bright and shade.
“And lo, still did he to draw ’bout him the cloak, and ’twer o’ the mouthings o’ the sage. And lo, at a day ’twer sent abroad that Truth should stalk ’pon Earth, and man, were he to look him close, shouldst see.
“And lo, the man did draw ’bout him the cloak, and did to wag him ‘Nay’ and ‘Nay, ’twer truth the sages did to mouth and I did weave athin the cloak o’ me.’
“And then ’twer that Truth did seek o’ Earth, and she wert clad o’ naught, and seeked the man, and begged that he would cast the cloak and clothe o’ her therein. And lo, he did to draw him close the cloak, and hid his face therein, and wag him ’Nay,’ he did to know her not.
“And lo, she did to fetch her unto him athrice, and then did he to wag him still a ‘Nay! Nay! Nay!’ And lo, she toucheth o’ the cloth o’ sage’s mouths and it doth fall atattered and leave him clothed o’ naught, and at a wishing. And he did seek o’ Truth, aye, ever, and when he did to find, lo, she wagged him nay, and nay, and nay.”
CONVERSATIONS
“This be bread. If man knoweth not the grain from which ’twer fashioned, what then? ’Tis bread. Let man deny me this.”—Patience Worth.
But after all, perhaps the truest conception of the character and versatility of Patience can be acquired from her “conversations.” The word “conversation” I here loosely apply to all that comes from her in the course of an evening, excepting the work on her stories. The poems and parables are usually woven into her remarks with a sequence that suggests extemporaneous production for the particular occasion, although as a rule they are of general application. Almost invariably they are brought out by something she or someone else has said, or as a tribute, a lesson or a comfort to some person who is present. Her songs, as she calls her poems, are freely given, apparently without a thought or a care as to what may become of them. They seem to come spontaneously, without effort, with no pause for thought, no groping for the right word, and to fall into their places as part of the spoken rather than the written speech. So it is that the term “conversation” in this connection is made to include much that ordinarily would not fall within that designation.