Rewards and Fairies | Page 4

poor boots,'he said. 'They'll get
horrid wet.'
it was their first summer in boots, and they hated them, so they took
them off, and slung them round their necks, and paddled joyfully over
the dripping turf where the shadows lay the wrong way, like evening in
the East. The sun was well up and warm, but by the brook the last of
the night mist still fumed off the water. They picked up the chain of
otter's footprints on the mud, and followed it from the bank, between
the weeds and the drenched mowing, while the birds shouted with
surprise. Then the track left the brook and became a smear, as though a
log had been dragged along.
They traced it into Three Cows meadow, over the mill-sluice to the
Forge, round Hobden's garden, and then up the slope till it ran out on
the short turf and fern of Pook's Hill, and they heard the cock-pheasants
crowing in the woods behind them.
'No use!' said Dan, questing like a puzzled hound. 'The dew's drying off,
and old Hobden says otters'll travel for miles.'
'I'm sure we've travelled miles.' Una fanned herself with her hat. 'How
still it is! It's going to be a regular roaster.' She looked down the valley,
where no chimney yet smoked.
'Hobden's up!' Dan pointed to the open door of the Forge cottage. 'What
d'you suppose he has for breakfast?' 'One of them. He says they eat
good all times of the year,' Una jerked her head at some stately
pheasants going down to the brook for a drink.
A few steps farther on a fox broke almost under their bare feet, yapped,
and trotted off.
'Ah, Mus' Reynolds -Mus' Reynolds'-Dan was quoting from old
Hobden, - 'if I knowed all you knowed, I'd know something.' [See 'The
Winged Hats' in PUCK OF POOK'S HILL.]

I say,' - Una lowered her voice -'you know that funny feeling of things
having happened before. I felt it when you said "Mus' Reynolds."'
'So did I,' Dan began. 'What is it?'
They faced each other, stammering with excitement.
'Wait a shake! I'll remember in a minute. Wasn't it something about a
fox - last year? Oh, I nearly had it then!' Dan cried.
'Be quiet!' said Una, prancing excitedly. 'There was something
happened before we met the fox last year. Hills! Broken Hills - the play
at the theatre - see what you see -'
'I remember now,' Dan shouted. 'It's as plain as the nose on your face -
Pook's Hill - Puck's Hill - Puck!'
'I remember, too,' said Una. 'And it's Midsummer Day again!' The
young fern on a knoll rustled, and Puck walked out, chewing a
green-topped rush.
'Good Midsummer Morning to you! Here's a happy meeting,' said he.
They shook hands all round, and asked questions.
'You've wintered well,' he said after a while, and looked them up and
down. 'Nothing much wrong with you, seemingly.'
'They've put us into boots,' said Una. 'Look at my feet - they're all pale
white, and my toes are squidged together awfully.'
'Yes - boots make a difference.' Puck wriggled his brown, square, hairy
foot, and cropped a dandelion flower between the big toe and the next.
'I could do that - last year,' Dan said dismally, as he tried and failed.
'And boots simply ruin one's climbing.'
'There must be some advantage to them, I suppose,'said Puck, or folk
wouldn't wear them. Shall we come this way?' They sauntered along
side by side till they reached the gate at the far end of the hillside. Here
they halted just like cattle, and let the sun warm their backs while they
listened to the flies in the wood.
'Little Lindens is awake,' said Una, as she hung with her chin on the top
rail. 'See the chimney smoke?'
'Today's Thursday, isn't it?' Puck turned to look at the old pink
farmhouse across the little valley. 'Mrs Vincey's baking day. Bread
should rise well this weather.' He yawned, and that set them both
yawning.
The bracken about rustled and ticked and shook in every direction.
They felt that little crowds were stealing past.

'Doesn't that sound like - er - the People of the Hills?'said Una.
'It's the birds and wild things drawing up to the woods before people
get about,' said Puck, as though he were Ridley the keeper.
'Oh, we know that. I only said it sounded like.'
'As I remember 'em, the People of the Hills used to make more noise.
They'd settle down for the day rather like small birds settling down for
the night. But that was in the days when they carried the high hand. Oh,
me! The deeds that I've had act and part in, you'd scarcely believe!'
'I like that!' said