The Hollow Land by Jane Gardam Read Free Book Online

farmer’s wife gave the poor thing a bowl of milk and showed her the kitchen settle to sleep on—they were very used to lost travellers—and they all went to bed.
    â€œAnd the wind howled and the rain lashed—rather after the style of now—and no fish, mind, no wine, no grand french potatoes. No electrics in the kitchen—only tallow candles and the dogs howling as guardians in the yard. Very noisy restive dogs they were too that night. The farmer twice thought he’d get out there to quiet them, but it were late and he were tired and so he slept.
    â€œNow there were a servant girl—and my granny knew her. When that lass were an old woman my granny knew her, so what about that? She had no room to herself them days but slept int’ kitchen by the fire back, twirled up in a bit of a blanket. Lil’e wee bit of a lass, so small it’s likely the old traveller din’t see her at the start. Sharp-eyed lass, however, for lying there int’ fire back she sees, on a level with her eyes, that this old woman, all bent over double, had the biggest female feet you ever did see—and she were wearing man’s boots!
    â€œâ€˜Hello,’ says the little lass to herself—and she watches. Next she listens. Out of the pocket of her cloak the old woman takes a candle. All’s quiet—even the dogs without. So she stands up straight and she flings off the cloak, and underneath there’s the figure of a great, strong, ferocious ruffian of a man.
    â€œThe man then takes from his pocket something small and solid and unwraps it from a rag, and the girl sees that it’s a—human hand. Pale grey. A greasy thing not unlike the candle. The man places the candle in the fingers of the dead hand and he lights it. The candle stays fixed in the fingers. Then this hand the ruffian sticks in a jar. He slowly bends over the girl he’s just that moment seen and he passes the light before her eyes. Then he says these words:
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    Let those who rest more deeply sleep:
    Let those awake their vigil keep.
    Oh Hand of Glory, shed thy light,
    Direct us to our spoil tonight.
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    And there’s not a child at Stainmer or in Kirkby school nor yet a conductress on the GNE buses over Stainmer doesn’t know that verse to this day. So what happens?”
    The London mother was sitting up straight.
    â€œHe walks to the window, draws back the curtain and holding the candle he says:
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    Flash out thy light, oh skeleton hand,
    And guide the feet of our trusty band
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    and the light shoots up as if there’s been pure cane sugar put on it, and the man walks to the door, draws back the bolts and steps outside to call in his assistant thieves. And he whistles.
    â€œAnd up jumps the little lass, runs to the door and pushes him wham-bang in the middle of his back off the top of the steps and thump into the yard. Then she runs in and bolts the door and tries to wake the family up.
    â€œBut the spell is still on them—the candle still burning. So she picks up the bowl of milk and pours it over the candle and out it goes—it wouldn’t go out with blowing—and ten shakes of a whisker and the family’s up and downstairs and firing off blunderbusses from the window. There’s groans and terrible cries from down below in the yard and some sort of a talk going on, and at last one of them, the leader of the gang, shouts up, ‘Give up the Hand of Glory and we shall not harm you.’ Off go the blunderbusses again, however, from the farm windows and a number of strong remarks, I’d reckon, and the thieves run off.
    â€œNow that hand and that candle were in the inn called The Old Spital over Stainmer many a long year. The hand is in the Whitby Museum to this day. And I hear tell there’s another one in a museum westward.”
    Mr. Kendal picked up his teacup and finished his tea, looking very satisfied and lively.
    â€œI am glad,” said the