et you.

'"Here, oh, come here!" said the Lady Esclairmonde, and stretched out
her arms in the dark.

'He was coming slowly, but he stumbled in the footpath, being, of
course, mortal man.

'"Why, what's this?" he said to himself. We three heard him.

'"Hold, lad, hold! 'Ware Cold Iron!" said Sir Huon, and they two swept
down like night-jars, crying as they rode.

'I ran at their stirrups, but it was too late. We felt that the Boy had
touched Cold Iron somewhere in the dark, for the Horses of the Hill
shied off, and whipped round, snorting.

'Then I judged it was time for me to show myself in my own shape; so I
did.

'"Whatever it is," I said, "he has taken hold of it. Now we must find
out whatever it _is_ that he has taken hold of; for that will be his
fortune."

'"Come here, Robin," the Boy shouted, as soon as he heard my voice. "I
don't know what I've hold of."

'"It is in your hands," I called back. "Tell us if it is hard and cold,
with jewels atop. For that will be a King's Sceptre."

'"Not by a furrow-long," he said, and stooped and tugged in the dark. We
heard him.

'"Has it a handle and two cutting edges?" I called. "For that'll be a
Knight's Sword."

'"No, it hasn't," he says. "It's neither ploughshare, whittle, hook, nor
crook, nor aught I've yet seen men handle." By this time he was
scratting in the dirt to prize it up.

'"Whatever it is, you know who put it there, Robin," said Sir Huon to
me, "or you would not ask those questions. You should have told me as
soon as you knew."

'"What could you or I have done against the Smith that made it and laid
it for him to find?" I said, and I whispered Sir Huon what I had seen at
the Forge on Thor's Day, when the babe was first brought to the Hill.

'"Oh, good-bye, our dreams!" said Sir Huon. "It's neither sceptre,
sword, nor plough! Maybe yet it's a bookful of learning, bound with
iron clasps. There's a chance for a splendid fortune in that
sometimes."

'But we knew we were only speaking to comfort ourselves, and the Lady
Esclairmonde, having been a woman, said so.

'"Thur aie! Thur help us!" the Boy called. "It is round, without end,
Cold Iron, four fingers wide and a thumb thick, and there is writing on
the breadth of it."

'"Read the writing if you have the learning," I called. The darkness had
lifted by then, and the owl was out over the fern again.

'He called back, reading the runes on the iron:

"Few can see
F