owned all this valley. Hugh heard the farmer
shouting, and asked him what in the world he meant. The old man spun
him a wonderful tale about fairies and goblins and witches; and I know
he hadn't seen a thing except rabbits and red deer all that night.
(The People of the Hills are like otters--they don't show except when
they choose.) But the novice wasn't a fool. He looked down at the
horse's feet, and saw the new shoes fastened as only Weland knew how to
fasten 'em. (Weland had a way of turning down the nails that folks
called the Smith's Clinch.)

"'H'm!" said the novice. "Where did you get your horse shod?"

'The farmer wouldn't tell him at first, because the priests never liked
their people to have any dealings with the Old Things. At last he
confessed that the Smith had done it. "What did you pay him?" said the
novice. "Penny," said the farmer, very sulkily. "That's less than a
Christian would have charged," said the novice. "I hope you threw a
'thank you' into the bargain." "No," said the farmer; "Wayland-Smith's
a heathen." "Heathen or no heathen," said the novice, "you took his
help, and where you get help there you must give thanks." "What?" said
the farmer--he was in a furious temper because I was walking the old
horse in circles all this time--"What, you young jackanapes?" said he.
"Then by your reasoning I ought to say 'Thank you' to Satan if he
helped me?" "Don't roll about up there splitting reasons with me,"
said the novice. "Come back to the Ford and thank the Smith, or you'll
be sorry."

'Back the farmer had to go. I led the horse, though no one saw me, and
the novice walked beside us, his gown swishing through the shiny dew
and his fishing-rod across his shoulders, spear-wise. When we reached
the Ford again--it was five o'clock and misty still under the oaks--the
farmer simply wouldn't say "Thank you." He said he'd tell the Abbot
that the novice wanted him to worship heathen Gods. Then Hugh the
novice lost his temper. He just cried, "Out!" put his arm under the
farmer's fat leg, and heaved him from his saddle on to the turf, and
before he could rise he caught him by the back of the neck and shook
him like a rat till the farmer growled, "Thank you, Wayland-Smith."'

'Did Weland see all this?' said Dan.

'Oh yes, and he shouted his old war-cry when the farmer thudded on to
the ground. He was delighted. Then the novice turned to the oak tree
and said, "Ho, Smith of the Gods! I am asha