Rewards and Fairies | Page 6

Only, the pigs have rings on their noses, and the slaves had rings round their necks.'
'What sort of rings?' said Dan.
'A ring of Cold Iron, four fingers wide, and a thumb thick, just like a quoit, but with a snap to it for to snap round the slave's neck. They used to do a big trade in slave-rings at the Forge here, and ship them to all parts of Old England, packed in oak sawdust. But, as I was saying, there was a farmer out of the Weald who had bought a woman with a babe in her arms, and he didn't want any encumbrances to her driving his beasts home for him.'
'Beast himself!' said Una, and kicked her bare heel on the gate.
'So he blamed the auctioneer. "It's none o' my baby," the wench puts in. "I took it off a woman in our gang who died on Terrible Down yesterday." "I'll take it off to the church then," says the farmer. "Mother Church'll make a monk of it, and we'll step along home."
'It was dusk then. He slipped down to St Pancras' Church, and laid the babe at the cold chapel door. I breathed on the back of his stooping neck - and - I've heard he never could be warm at any fire afterwards. I should have been surprised if he could! Then I whipped up the babe, and came flying home here like a bat to his belfry.
'On the dewy break of morning of Thor's own day -just such a day as this - I laid the babe outside the Hill here, and the People flocked up and wondered at the sight.
'"You've brought him, then?" Sir Huon said, staring like any mortal man.
'"Yes, and he's brought his mouth with him, too," I said. The babe was crying loud for his breakfast.
'"What is he?" says Sir Huon, when the womenfolk had drawn him under to feed him.
'"Full Moon and Morning Star may know," I says. "I don't. By what I could make out of him in the moonlight, he's without brand or blemish. I'll answer for it that he's born on the far side of Cold Iron, for he was born under a shaw on Terrible Down, and I've wronged neither man, woman, nor child in taking him, for he is the son of a dead slave-woman.
'"All to the good, Robin," Sir Huon said. "He'll be the less anxious to leave us. Oh, we'll give him a splendid fortune, and we shall act and influence on folk in housen as we have always craved." His Lady came up then, and drew him under to watch the babe's wonderful doings.' 'Who was his Lady?'said Dan. 'The Lady Esclairmonde. She had been a woman once, till she followed Sir Huon across the fern, as we say. Babies are no special treat to me - I've watched too many of them - so I stayed on the Hill. Presently I heard hammering down at the Forge there.'Puck pointed towards Hobden's cottage. 'It was too early for any workmen, but it passed through my mind that the breaking day was Thor's own day. A slow north-east wind blew up and set the oaks sawing and fretting in a way I remembered; so I slipped over to see what I could see.'
'And what did you see?' 'A smith forging something or other out of Cold Iron. When it was finished, he weighed it in his hand (his back was towards me), and tossed it from him a longish quoit-throw down the valley. I saw Cold Iron flash in the sun, but I couldn't quite make out where it fell. That didn't trouble me. I knew it would be found sooner or later by someone.'
'How did you know?'Dan went on.
'Because I knew the Smith that made it,' said Puck quietly.
'Wayland Smith?' Una suggested. [See 'Weland's Sword' in PUCK OF POOK'S HILL.]
'No. I should have passed the time 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