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