hadn't seen a thing except rabbits and red deer all that night. (The
People of the Hills are like otters--they don't show except when they
choose.) But the novice wasn't a fool. He looked down at the horse's
feet, and saw the new shoes fastened as only Weland knew how to fasten
'em. (Weland had a way of turning down the nails that folks called the
Smith's Clinch.)

'"H'm!" said the novice. "Where did you get your horse shod?"

'The farmer wouldn't tell him at first, because the priests never liked
their people to have any dealings with the Old Things. At last he
confessed that the Smith had done it. "What did you pay him?" said the
novice. "Penny," said the farmer, very sulkily. "That's less than a
Christian would have charged," said the novice. "I hope you threw a
'Thank you' into the bargain." "No," said the farmer; "Wayland-Smith's a
heathen." "Heathen or no heathen," said the novice, "you took his help,
and where you get help there you must give thanks." "What?" said the
farmer--he was in a furious temper because I was walking the old horse
in circles all this time--"What, you young jackanapes?" said he. "Then
by your reasoning I ought to say 'Thank you' to Satan if he helped me?"
"Don't roll about up there splitting reasons with me," said the novice.
"Come back to the Ford and thank the Smith, or you'll be sorry."

'Back the farmer had to go. I led the horse, though no one saw me, and
the novice walked beside us, his gown swishing through the shiny dew and
his fishing-rod across his shoulders, spear-wise. When we reached the
Ford again--it was five o'clock and misty still under the oaks--the
farmer simply wouldn't say "Thank you." He said he'd tell the Abbot that
the novice wanted him to worship heathen Gods. Then Hugh the novice lost
his temper. He just cried, "Out!" put his arm under the farmer's fat
leg, and heaved him from his saddle on to the turf, and before he could
rise he caught him by the back of the neck and shook him like a rat till
the farmer growled, "Thank you, Wayland-Smith."'

'Did Weland see all this?' said Dan.

'Oh yes, and he shouted his old war-cry when the farmer thudded on to
the ground. He was delighted. Then the novice turned to the oak tree and
said, "Ho, Smith of the Gods! I am ashamed of this rude farmer; but for
all you have done in kindness and charity to him and to others of our
people, I thank you and wish you well." Then he picked up his
fishing-rod--it looked more like a tal