‘What’s taking seizin?’ said Dan, cautiously.

’It’s an old custom the people had when they bought and sold land.  They used to cut out a clod and hand it over to the buyer, and you weren’t lawfully seized of your land—­it didn’t really belong to you—­till the other fellow had actually given you a piece of it—­like this.’  He held out the turves.

‘But it’s our own meadow,’ said Dan, drawing back.  ’Are you going to magic it away?’

Puck laughed.  ’I know it’s your meadow, but there’s a great deal more in it than you or your father ever guessed.  Try!’

He turned his eyes on Una.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said.  Dan followed her example at once.

‘Now are you two lawfully seized and possessed of all Old England,’ began Puck, in a sing-song voice.  ’By right of Oak, Ash, and Thorn are you free to come and go and look and know where I shall show or best you please.  You shall see What you shall see and you shall hear What you shall hear, though It shall have happened three thousand year; and you shall know neither Doubt nor Fear.  Fast!  Hold fast all I give you.’

The children shut their eyes, but nothing happened.

‘Well?’ said Una, disappointedly opening them.  ’I thought there would be dragons.’

‘"Though It shall have happened three thousand year,"’ said Puck, and counted on his fingers.  ’No; I’m afraid there were no dragons three thousand years ago.’

‘But there hasn’t happened anything at all,’ said Dan.

‘Wait awhile,’ said Puck.  ’You don’t grow an oak in a year—­and Old England’s older than twenty oaks.  Let’s sit down again and think. I can do that for a century at a time.’

‘Ah, but you’re a fairy,’ said Dan.

‘Have you ever heard me say that word yet?’ said Puck quickly.

’No.  You talk about “the People of the Hills”, but you never say “fairies",’ said Una.  ‘I was wondering at that.  Don’t you like it?’

’How would you like to be called “mortal” or “human being” all the time?’ said Puck; ‘or “son of Adam” or “daughter of Eve"?’

‘I shouldn’t like it at all,’ said Dan.  ’That’s how the Djinns and Afrits talk in the Arabian Nights.’

’And that’s how I feel about saying—­that word that I don’t say.  Besides, what you call them are made-up things the People of the Hills have never heard of—­little buzzflies with butterfly wings and gauze petticoats, and shiny stars in their hair, and a wand like a schoolteacher’s cane for punishing bad boys and rewarding good ones. I know ’em!’

‘We don’t mean that sort,’ said Dan.  ’We hate ’em too.’