eatly taken with their wayside questioner,
and told him things of weight. The wearing of gyves (they said) was no
command of Jupiter's. It was the contrivance of a white-faced thing, a
sorcerer, that dwelt in that country in the Wood of Eld. He was one like
Glaucus that could change his shape, yet he could be always told; for
when he was crossed, he gobbled like a turkey. He had three lives; but
the third smiting would make an end of him indeed; and with that his
house of sorcery would vanish, the gyves fall, and the villagers take
hands and dance like children.

"And in your country?" Jack would ask.

But at this, the travellers, with one accord, would put him off; until
Jack began to suppose there was no land entirely happy. Or, if there
were, it must be one that kept its folk at home; which was natural
enough.

But the case of the gyves weighed upon him. The sight of the children
limping stuck in his eyes; the groans of such as dressed their ulcers
haunted him. And it came at last in his mind that he was born to free
them.

There was in that village a sword of heavenly forgery, beaten upon
Vulcan's anvil. It was never used but in the temple, and then the flat
of it only; and it hung on a nail by the catechist's chimney. Early one
night Jack rose, and took the sword, and was gone out of the house and
the village in the darkness.

All night he walked at a venture; and when day came, he met strangers
going to the fields. Then he asked after the Wood of Eld and the house
of sorcery; and one said north, and one south; until Jack saw that they
deceived him. So then, when he asked his way of any man, he showed the
bright sword naked; and at that the gyve on the man's ankle rang and
answered in his stead; and the word was still _Straight on._ But the
man, when his gyve spoke, spat and struck at Jack, and threw stones at
him as he went away; so that his head was broken.

So he came to that wood, and entered in, and he was aware of a house in
a low place, where funguses grew, and the trees met, and the steaming of
the marsh arose about it like a smoke. It was a fine house, and a very
rambling; some parts of it were ancient like the hills, and some but of
yesterday, and none finished; and all the ends of it were open, so that
you could go in from every side. Yet it was in good repair, and all the
chimneys smoked.

Jack went in through the gable; and there was one room after another,
all bare, but all furnished in part,