Rewards and Fairies | Page 7

o' day with Wayland Smith, of
course. This other was different. So' - Puck made a queer crescent in

the air with his finger - 'I counted the blades of grass under my nose till
the wind dropped and he had gone - he and his Hammer.'
'Was it Thor then?' Una murmured under her breath.
'Who else? It was Thor's own day.' Puck repeated the sign. 'I didn't tell
Sir Huon or his Lady what I'd seen. Borrow trouble for yourself if that's
your nature, but don't lend it to your neighbours. Moreover, I might
have been mistaken about the Smith's work. He might have been
making things for mere amusement, though it wasn't like him, or he
might have thrown away an old piece of made iron. One can never be
sure. So I held my tongue and enjoyed the babe. He was a wonderful
child - and the People of the Hills were so set on him, they wouldn't
have believed me. He took to me wonderfully. As soon as he could
walk he'd putter forth with me all about my Hill here. Fern makes soft
falling! He knew when day broke on earth above, for he'd thump,
thump, thump, like an old buck-rabbit in a bury, and I'd hear him say
"Opy!" till some one who knew the Charm let him out, and then it
would be "Robin! Robin!" all round Robin Hood's barn, as we say, till
he'd found me.'
'The dear!' said Una. 'I'd like to have seen him!' 'Yes, he was a boy.
And when it came to learning his words - spells and such-like - he'd sit
on the Hill in the long shadows, worrying out bits of charms to try on
passersby. And when the bird flew to him, or the tree bowed to him for
pure love's sake (like everything else on my Hill), he'd shout, "Robin!
Look -see! Look, see, Robin!" and sputter out some spell or other that
they had taught him, all wrong end first, till I hadn't the heart to tell him
it was his own dear self and not the words that worked the wonder.
When he got more abreast of his words, and could cast spells for sure,
as we say, he took more and more notice of things and people in the
world. People, of course, always drew him, for he was mortal all
through.
'Seeing that he was free to move among folk in housen, under or over
Cold Iron, I used to take him along with me, night- walking, where he
could watch folk, and I could keep him from touching Cold Iron. That
wasn't so difficult as it sounds, because there are plenty of things
besides Cold Iron in housen to catch a boy's fancy. He was a handful,
though! I shan't forget when I took him to Little Lindens - his first night
under a roof. The smell of the rushlights and the bacon on the beams -

they were stuffing a feather-bed too, and it was a drizzling warm night -
got into his head. Before I could stop him -we were hiding in the
bakehouse - he'd whipped up a storm of wildfire, with flashlights and
voices, which sent the folk shrieking into the garden, and a girl overset
a hive there, and - of course he didn't know till then such things could
touch him - he got badly stung, and came home with his face looking
like kidney potatoes! 'You can imagine how angry Sir Huon and Lady
Esclairmonde were with poor Robin! They said the Boy was never to
be trusted with me night-walking any more - and he took about as
much notice of their order as he did of the bee-stings. Night after night,
as soon as it was dark, I'd pick up his whistle in the wet fern, and off
we'd flit together among folk in housen till break of day - he asking
questions, and I answering according to my knowledge. Then we fell
into mischief again!'Puck shook till the gate rattled.
'We came across a man up at Brightling who was beating his wife with
a bat in the garden. I was just going to toss the man over his own
woodlump when the Boy jumped the hedge and ran at him. Of course
the woman took her husband's part, and while the man beat him, the
woman scratted his face. It wasn't till I danced among the cabbages like
Brightling Beacon all ablaze that they gave up and ran indoors. The
Boy's fine green-and-gold clothes were torn all to pieces, and he had
been welted in twenty places with the man's bat, and scratted by the
woman's nails to pieces. He looked like a Robertsbridge hopper on a
Monday morning.