“It is ‘curan’ that you are, master,” he said; “not even Arthur himself could have done that.”
“Many times have I heard your folk call me that. I would learn what it means,” said Havelok.
But the old man could hardly find the English word for the name, which means “a wonder,” and nothing more. Nevertheless the marsh folk were wont to call their friend “Hablok Curan” in their talk, for a wonder he was to all who knew him.
So he came home with his great basket, and said, “Here sit I by the fire, eating more than my share, and helping to win it not at all. Now will I make amends, for I will go the fisher’s rounds through the marshlands with my basket, and I think that I shall do well.”
Now my father tried to prevent him doing this, because, as I know now, it was not work for a king’s son. But Havelok would not be denied.
“Fat and idle am I, and my muscles need hardening,” he said. “Let me go, father, for I was restless at home.”
So from that time he went out into the marshland far and wide, and the people grew to know and love him well. Always he came back with his fish sold, and gave money and full account to my father, and mostly the account would end thus:
“Four fish also there were more, but the burden was heavy, and so I even gave them to a certain old dame.”
And my mother would say, “It is likely that the burden was lighter for her blessing.”
And, truly, if the love of poor folk did help, Havelok’s burden weighed naught, great though it was.