[{"node":{"title":"Hanna172","Collections":"Part Two","Contributor":"Linen Hall Library","Coverage":"1951","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Thursday, April 7, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Hanna172","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Islands, Sunlight","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/hanna172","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Hanna172_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeff166\n\nThe tide was high and by lifting the rollers and repla\ning them under the prow he worked the boat down to the edge,\nclimbed in, and drew out on the grey gently-breathing water.\nAt first the water seeped heavily and he had to draw in his oar\nand bail. Then the timbers filled and he lengthened his strok\nand sped out between the islands.\n\nOn his left hand he saw the soft green hummock where the\nboat had foundered and his father had been drowned. On that\ndark wind-torn evening it had appeared like a jagged, over-\nhanging rock. It gave him courage to see it now, in the clear\ndaylight, a small green mound of earth and grass with its\ncrumbling feet lapped by the waves. Perhaps his own fear was\nnothing more than a green hillock, and the voice that threat-\nened his peace nothing more than the voice of a frightened\nsheep.\n\nThe sky was filled with motionless goose-grey cloud,\nthreadbare toward the east, where the sun pierced fitfully,\nstriking an island alight with emerald fire or launching a\nswift glittering commotion in the channels as if a shoal of\nsilver fish had broken water. Each little island was crowned\nby shrubs and plants, the fruits of bird-borne and aeolian\nseeds. The silver willow nodded in the water, and in the\ngreen gloom of ash, briar, and dwarfed beech, marigold and\ncelandine glowed like clotted sunlight .\n\nHe rowed among the islands, peering into their secret\nglades and marking the thread-like tracks of birds and rats.\nSuddenly before him lay the stony beach of Pentland\u2019s island.\nHe pulled vigorously on the oars three times, shipped them,\nand waited for the impact of the keel on the shingle. When the\nboat struck he took off his boots and socks and stepped out\ninto the warm languid surf. He drew the boat up, put on his\nfootwear again, and climbed up through the coarse grass towards\nthe farm.\n\nHis path ran close to the broken walls of the monastery,\nupwards through a thicket of fuschia and blossoming thorn, and\n","Type":"Text"}}]