ymede?' said Puck, as
Kadmiel laughed noiselessly.

'Nay. Who am I to meddle with things too high for me? I returned to Bury,
and lent money on the autumn crops. Why not?'

There was a crackle overhead. A cock-pheasant that had sheered aside after
being hit spattered down almost on top of them, driving up the dry leaves
like a shell. _Flora_ and _Folly_ threw themselves at it; the children
rushed forward, and when they had beaten them off and smoothed down the
plumage Kadmiel had disappeared.

'Well,' said Puck, calmly, 'what did you think of it? Weland gave the
Sword. The Sword gave the Treasure, and the Treasure gave the Law. It's as
natural as an oak growing.'

'I don't understand. Didn't he know it was Sir Richard's old treasure?'
said Dan. 'And why did Sir Richard and Brother Hugh leave it lying about?
And--and----'

'Never mind,' said Una, politely. 'He'll let us come and go, and look, and
know another time. Won't you, Puck?'

'Another time maybe,' Puck answered. 'Brr! It's cold--and late. I'll race
you towards home!'

They hurried down into the sheltered valley. The sun had almost sunk
behind Cherry Clack, the trodden ground by the cattle-gates was freezing
at the edges, and the new-waked north wind blew the night on them from
over the hills. They picked up their feet and flew across the browned
pastures, and when they halted, panting in the steam of their own breath,
the dead leaves whirled up behind them. There was Oak and Ash and Thorn
enough in that year-end shower to magic away a thousand memories.

So they trotted to the brook at the bottom of the lawn, wondering why
_Flora_ and _Folly_ had missed the quarry-hole fox.

Old Hobden was just finishing some hedge-work. They saw his white smock
glimmer in the twilight where he faggoted the rubbish.

'Winter, he's come, I rackon, Mus' Dan,' he called. 'Hard times now till
Heffle Cuckoo Fair. Yes, we'll all be glad to see the Old Woman let the
Cuckoo out o' the basket for to start lawful Spring in England.' They
heard a crash, and a stamp and a splash of water as though a heavy old cow
were crossing almost under their noses.

Hobden ran forward angrily to the ford.

'Gleason's bull again, playin' Robin all over the Farm! Oh, look, Mus'
Dan--his great footmark as big as a trencher. No bounds to his impidence!
He might count himself to be a man--or Somebody.'

A voice the other side of the brook boomed:

'I marvel who his cloak would turn
When