for their own neglect. Never believe 'em. I'd whip 'em at the cart-tail
through three parishes if I had my way.'

'But they don't do it now,' said Una.

'Whip, or neglect children? Umm! Some folks and some fields never alter.
But the People of the Hills didn't work any changeling tricks.
They'd tiptoe in and whisper and weave round the cradle-babe in the
chimney-corner--a fag-end of a charm here, or half a spell there--like
kettles singing; but when the babe's mind came to bud out afterwards,
it would act differently from other people in its station. That's no
advantage to man or maid. So I wouldn't allow it with my folks' babies
here. I told Sir Huon so once.'

'Who was Sir Huon?' Dan asked, and Puck turned on him in quiet
astonishment.

'Sir Huon of Bordeaux--he succeeded King Oberon. He had been a bold
knight once, but he was lost on the road to Babylon, a long while back.
Have you ever heard "How many miles to Babylon?"?'

'Of course,' said Dan, flushing.

'Well, Sir Huon was young when that song was new. But about tricks
on mortal babies. I said to Sir Huon in the fern here, on just such a
morning as this: "If you crave to act and influence on folk in housen,
which I know is your desire, why don't you take some human cradle-babe
by fair dealing, and bring him up among yourselves on the far side
of Cold Iron--as Oberon did in time past? Then you could make him a
splendid fortune, and send him out into the world."

'"Time past is past time," says Sir Huon. "I doubt if we could do it.
For one thing, the babe would have to be taken without wronging man,
woman, or child. For another, he'd have to be born on the far side of
Cold Iron--in some house where no Cold Iron ever stood; and for yet the
third, he'd have to be kept from Cold Iron all his days till we let
him find his fortune. No, it's not easy," he said, and he rode off,
thinking. You see, Sir Huon had been a man once. 'I happened to attend
Lewes Market next Woden's Day even, and watched the slaves being sold
there--same as pigs are sold at Robertsbridge Market nowadays. Only,
the pigs have rings on their noses, and the slaves had rings round their
necks.'

'What sort of rings?' said Dan.

'A ring of Cold Iron, four fingers wide, and a thumb thick, just like
a quoit, but with a snap to it for to snap round the slave's neck. They
used to do a big trade in slave-rings at the Forge here, and ship
them to all parts of Old England, packed in oak sawdust. But