| "The Tinker" | |
|---|---|
| Author | Orson Scott Card |
| Country | United States |
| Language | English |
| Published in | Eternity SF |
| Publication type | Periodical |
| Media type | Print (Magazine) |
| Publication date | 1980 |
"The Tinker" is a short story by Orson Scott Card. It appears in his short story collection The Worthing Saga. Card first published it in the Vol. 1, No. 2 (1980) issue of Eternity SF magazine.
Contents |
Plot summary [link]
John Tinker spent every winter at his cousin’s inn in the town of Worthing. While in town John healed the town’s people with a special gift he inherited from Jason Worthing. On a particularly bad winter when the snow was very deep John did his best to help the sick people of Worthing but some of them died anyway. The town’s people blamed John for the deaths and killed some of the birds that he has also been taking care of. When John found he was unable to help his nephew, people thought he was refusing to help because of the dead birds and ran him out of town. After he left a very bad snowstorm hit Worthing and more than half the people in town died. When the storm finally ended John returned to Worthing and was beaten to death by the remaining town’s people.
[edit] Connection to the Worthing Saga
This story takes place many years after the events in the story "Worthing Inn". The story of John Tinker also appears in a much shorter form as a part of chapter 7 in Card's novel The Worthing Chronicle.
See also [link]
External links [link]
|
||||||||
 |
This short story-related article is a stub. You can help Wikipedia by expanding it. |
https://wn.com/The_Tinker
Podcasts:
-
by Irish Rovers
The Tinker
by: Irish RoversIt's a tinker I am, just a travellin' man
I follow the wind and the stars
If I've shoes on me feet,and an old crust to eat
I'm as happy as any by far
I'm as rich as a king when I lie down to dream
On My pillow of sawdust or hay
And the friends that I make I would never forsake
And their kindness one day I'll repay
So thank you for sharing the warmth of your fire
And an 'oul cup of tea or two
And that warm feather bed,where I lay down my head
for making me welcome,thank you.
I'm a jack of all trades,and as sharp as a blade
When it comes to the markets and fairs
Mending 'oul pots and pans or whatever I can
Not a penny I'd give for your cares
BRIDGE:
Now the cold winds of winter can cut like a knife
And the rainchills me deep to the bone
But the warm summer breezes still blow in my mind
And it's them keeps me carryin' on
When the cock crows at dawn,I'll be already gone
Through the meadow that runs by the trees
I think nothing of time,for the worls is all mine