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Page 5
'Splendid,' said Dan, but Una shuddered.
'I'm glad they're gone, then; but what made the People of the Hills go
away?' Una asked.
'Different things. I'll tell you one of them some day--the thing that
made the biggest flit of any,' said Puck. 'But they didn't all flit at
once. They dropped off, one by one, through the centuries. Most of them
were foreigners who couldn't stand our climate. _They_ flitted early.'
'How early?' said Dan.
'A couple of thousand years or more. The fact is they began as Gods. The
Phoenicians brought some over when they came to buy tin; and the Gauls,
and the Jutes, and the Danes, and the Frisians, and the Angles brought
more when they landed. They were always landing in those days, or being
driven back to their ships, and they always brought their Gods with
them. England is a bad country for Gods. Now, _I_ began as I mean to go
on. A bowl of porridge, a dish of milk, and a little quiet fun with the
country folk in the lanes was enough for me then, as it is now. I belong
here, you see, and I have been mixed up with people all my days. But
most of the others insisted on being Gods, and having temples, and
altars, and priests, and sacrifices of their own.'
'People burned in wicker baskets?' said Dan. 'Like Miss Blake tells us
about?'
'All sorts of sacrifices,' said Puck. 'If it wasn't men, it was horses,
or cattle, or pigs, or metheglin--that's a sticky, sweet sort of beer.
_I_ never liked it. They were a stiff-necked, extravagant set of idols,
the Old Things. But what was the result? Men don't like being sacrificed
at the best of times; they don't even like sacrificing their
farm-horses. After a while, men simply left the Old Things alone, and
the roofs of their temples fell in, and the Old Things had to scuttle
out and pick up a living as they could. Some of them took to hanging
about trees, and hiding in graves and groaning o' nights. If they
groaned loud enough and long enough they might frighten a poor
countryman into sacrificing a hen, or leaving a pound of butter for
them. I remember one Goddess called Belisama. She became a common wet
water-spirit somewhere in Lancashire. And there were hundreds of other
friends of mine. First they were Gods. Then they were People of the
Hills, and then they flitted to other places because they couldn't get
on with the English for one reason or another. There was only one Old
Thing, I remember, who honestly worked for his living after he came down
in the world. He was called Weland, and he was a smith to some Gods.
I've forgotten their names, but he used to make them swords and spears.
I think he claimed kin with Thor of the Scandinavians.'
'_Heroes of Asgard_ Thor?' said Una. She had been reading the book.
'Perhaps,' answered Puck. 'None the less, when bad times came, he didn't
beg or steal. He worked; and I was lucky enough to be able to do him a
good turn.'
'Tell us about it,' said Dan. 'I think I like hearing of Old Things.'
They rearranged themselves comfortably, each chewing a grass stem. Puck
propped himself on one strong arm and went on:
'Let's think! I met Weland first on a November afternoon in a sleet
storm, on Pevensey Level----'
'Pevensey? Over the hill, you mean?' Dan pointed south.
'Yes; but it was all marsh in those days, right up to Horsebridge and
Hydeneye. I was on Beacon Hill--they called it Brunanburgh then--when I
saw the pale flame that burning thatch makes, and I went down to look.
Some pirates--I think they must have been Peofn's men--were burning a
village on the Levels, and Weland's image--a big, black wooden thing
with amber beads round his neck--lay in the bows of a black
thirty-two-oar galley that they had just beached. Bitter cold it was!
There were icicles hanging from her deck and the oars were glazed over
with ice, and there was ice on Weland's lips. When he saw me he began a
long chant in his own tongue, telling me how he was going to rule
England, and how I should smell the smoke of his altars from
Lincolnshire to the Isle of Wight. I didn't care! I'd seen too many Gods
charging into Old England to be upset about it. I let him sing himself
out while his men were burning the village, and then I said (I don't
know what put it into my head), "Smith of the Gods," I said, "the time
comes when I shall meet you plying your trade for hire by the wayside."'
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