The Shores of Dozmary Pool

I met a man with a limpet shell on the shores of Dozmary Pool.

“What ails ye?” said I.

“Thirst,” said he. “Forever I empty this cursed pool, while forbidden to drain her water myself.”

“If ye cannot drain yersel, I will for ye.”

So I took the shell, filled it, pressed it to his lips.

“Thankee for emptying the pool for me, boy,” said he. “I’ll see you dreckly.” And he vanished with a laugh and a shriek.

I made to cast aside the shell, but found it now heavy as granite, and my feet moving unwillingly to water.