Puck looked down the meadow that lay all quiet and cool in the shadow of Pook’s Hill.  A corncrake jarred in a hay-field near by, and the small trouts of the brook began to jump.  A big white moth flew unsteadily from the alders and flapped round the children’s heads, and the least little haze of water-mist rose from the brook.

‘Do you really want to know?’ Puck said.

‘We do,’ cried the children.  ‘Awfully!’

’Very good.  I promised you that you shall see What you shall see, and you shall hear What you shall hear, though It shall have happened three thousand year; but just now it seems to me that, unless you go back to the house, people will be looking for you.  I’ll walk with you as far as the gate.’

‘Will you be here when we come again?’ they asked.

‘Surely, sure-ly,’ said Puck.  ’I’ve been here some time already.  One minute first, please.’

He gave them each three leaves—­one of Oak, one of Ash and one of Thorn.

‘Bite these,’ said he.  ’Otherwise you might be talking at home of what you’ve seen and heard, and—­if I know human beings—­they’d send for the doctor.  Bite!’

They bit hard, and found themselves walking side by side to the lower gate.  Their father was leaning over it.

‘And how did your play go?’ he asked.

‘Oh, splendidly,’ said Dan.  ’Only afterwards, I think, we went to sleep. it was very hot and quiet.  Don’t you remember, Una?’

Una shook her head and said nothing.

‘I see,’ said her father.

’Late—­late in the evening Kilmeny came home,
For Kilmeny had been she could not tell where,
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare.

But why are you chewing leaves at your time of life, daughter?  For fun?’

‘No.  It was for something, but I can’t azactly remember,’ said Una.

And neither of them could till——­

A TREE SONG

Of all the trees that grow so fair,
  Old England to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun,
  Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. 
Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good Sirs
  (All of a Midsummer morn)! 
Surely we sing no little thing,
  In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Oak of the Clay lived many a day,
  Or ever AEneas began;
Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,
  When Brut was an outlaw man;
Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town
  (From which was London born);
Witness hereby the ancientry
  Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Yew that is old in churchyard mould,
  He breedeth a mighty bow;
Alder for shoes do wise men choose,
  And beech for cups also. 
But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,
  And your shoes are clean outworn,
Back ye must speed for all that ye need,
  To Oak and Ash and Thorn!

Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth
  Till every gust be laid,
To drop a limb on the head of him
  That anyway trusts her shade: 
But whether a lad be sober or sad,
  Or mellow with ale from the horn,
He will take no wrong when he lieth along
  ’Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!