104 ALONGSHORE n 



fishing. Aye ! a proper hard man farmer was, 

 but he knew how to grow good crops — right on 

 the top o' Ware Head, where the land an't been 

 tilled this fifty year. 



'Ruth, the farmer's maid, was sea-struck, like 

 I've a-heard say they gets stage-struck nowadays. 

 Her'd be out on the end o' Ware Head both day 

 an' night, watching the boats In an' out o' the 

 Roads, till the fishermen named her Ware Beacon, 

 an' said If her watched 'em out 'twould bring 'em 

 luck. An' it did: I've a-proved it. "Here, 

 boy," the farmer'd call me. "Go'n tell the maid 

 that If her Isn't In to dinner be time I've finished, 

 there's none for her." An' there wasn't nuther, 

 though maybe he'd linger a bit over it. 



'By'm-bye her took to going down to beach 

 for to see if any o' the pigs there was fit for 

 farmer to buy an' saltin — so her'd say — an,' 

 taking her food 'long wl' her, her'd bide there all 

 day, an' half the night too if the weather was dirty 

 an' the boats not home. Haul 'em up, her would, 

 like any man, an' you'd see her there most days, 

 making or mending nets, which her'd learnt to do, 

 sitting on the beach amongst the boats an' pigs 

 wI' Dan'l BIscoe's little boy squat beside her. 

 Farmer'd rage an' tear an' send me down after 



