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g a Priestess, she lifted her eyes to me. As I look on a hill or a cloud, so she looked at me. She spoke in the Old Tongue which Priestesses use when they make prayers to the Old Dead in the Barrows. She asked leave that she might light the fire in my companion's house--and that I should bless their children. I did not kill her. I heard my own voice, little and cold, say, "Let it be as you desire," and they went away hand in hand. My heart grew little and cold, a wind shouted in my ears; my eye darkened. I said to my Mother, "Can a God die?" I heard her say, "What is it? What is it, my son?" and I fell into darkness full of hammer-noises. I was not.' 'Oh, poor--poor God!' said Puck. 'And your wise Mother?' '_She_ knew. As soon as I dropped she knew. When my spirit came back I heard her whisper on my ear, "Whether you live or die, or are made different, I am your Mother." That was good--better even than the water she gave me and the going away of the sickness. Though I was ashamed to have fallen down, yet I was very glad. She was glad too. Neither of us wished to lose the other. There is only the one Mother for the one son. I heaped the fire for her, and barred the doors, and sat at her feet as before I went away, and she combed my hair, and sang. 'I said at last, "What is to be done to the people who say that I am Tyr?" 'She said, "He who has done a God-like thing must bear himself like a God. I see no way out of it. The people are now your sheep till you die. You cannot drive them off." 'I said, "This is a heavier sheep than I can lift." She said, "In time it will grow easy. In time perhaps you will not lay it down for any maiden anywhere. Be wise--be very wise, my son, for nothing is left you except the words, and the songs, and the worship of a God."' 'Oh, poor God!' said Puck. 'But those are not altogether bad things.' 'I know they are not; but I would sell them all--all--all for one small child of my own, smearing himself with the ashes of our own house-fire.' He wrenched his knife from the turf, thrust it into his belt and stood up. 'And yet, what else could I have done?' he said. 'The sheep are the people.' 'It is a very old tale,' Puck answered. 'I have heard the like of it not only on the Naked Chalk, but also among the Trees--under Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.' * * * * * The afternoon shadows filled all the quiet emptiness of Norton's Pit. The children hea
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