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 reckon, 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—­or Somebody——­’

A voice the other side of the brook boomed: 

’I wonder who his cloak would turn
When Puck had led him round,
Or where those walking fires would burn——­’

Then the children went in singing ‘Farewell Rewards and Fairies’ at the tops of their voices.  They had forgotten that they had not even said good-night to Puck.

THE CHILDREN’S SONG

Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee
Our love and toil in the years to be;
When we are grown and take our place,
As men and women with our race.

Father in Heaven Who lovest all,
Oh, help Thy children when they call;
That they may build from age to age,
An undefiled heritage.