less than wind and lighter than a sound,
and the wind goes through me like a net, and I am broken by a sound and
shaken by the cold."

"Be plain with me," said the man, "and tell me your name and of your
nature."

"My name," quoth the other, "is not yet named, and my nature not yet
sure. For I am part of a man; and I was a part of your fathers, and went
out to fish and fight with them in the ancient days. But now is my turn
not yet come; and I wait until you have a wife, and then shall I be in
your son, and a brave part of him, rejoicing manfully to launch the boat
into the surf, skilful to direct the helm, and a man of might where the
ring closes and the blows are going."

"This is a marvellous thing to hear," said the man; "and if you are
indeed to be my son, I fear it will go ill with you; for I am bitter poor
in goods and bitter ugly in face, and I shall never get me a wife if I
live to the age of eagles."

"All this hate I come to remedy, my Father," said the Poor Thing; "for we
must go this night to the little isle of sheep, where our fathers lie in
the dead-cairn, and to-morrow to the Earl's Hall, and there shall you
find a wife by my providing."

So the man rose and put forth his boat at the time of the sunsetting; and
the Poor Thing sat in the prow, and the spray blew through his bones like
snow, and the wind whistled in his teeth, and the boat dipped not with
the weight of him.

"I am fearful to see you, my son," said the man. "For methinks you are
no thing of God."

"It is only the wind that whistles in my teeth," said the Poor Thing,
"and there is no life in me to keep it out."

So they came to the little isle of sheep, where the surf burst all about
it in the midst of the sea, and it was all green with bracken, and all
wet with dew, and the moon enlightened it. They ran the boat into a
cove, and set foot to land; and the man came heavily behind among the
rocks in the deepness of the bracken, but the Poor Thing went before him
like a smoke in the light of the moon. So they came to the dead-cairn,
and they laid their ears to the stones; and the dead complained
withinsides like a swarm of bees: "Time was that marrow was in our bones,
and strength in our sinews; and the thoughts of our head were clothed
upon with acts and the words of men. But now are we broken in sunder,
and the bonds of our bones are loosed, and our thoughts lie in the dust."

Then said the Poor Thing: "Charge them that they