it came back
I heard her whisper in my ear, "Whether you live or die, or are made
different, I am your Mother." That was good--better even than the water
she gave me and the going away of the sickness. Though I was ashamed to
have fallen down, yet I was very glad. She was glad too. Neither of us
wished to lose the other. There is only the one Mother for the one son.
I heaped the fire for her, and barred the doors, and sat at her feet as
before I went away, and she combed my hair, and sang.

'I said at last, "What is to be done to the people who say that I am
Tyr?"

'She said, "He who has done a God-like thing must bear himself like a
God. I see no way out of it. The people are now your sheep till you die.
You cannot drive them off."

'I said, "This is a heavier sheep than I can lift." She said, "In time
it will grow easy. In time perhaps you will not lay it down for any
maiden anywhere. Be wise--be very wise, my son, for nothing is left you
except the words, and the songs, and the worship of a God."

'Oh, poor God!' said Puck. 'But those are not altogether bad things.'

'I know they are not; but I would sell them all--all--all for one small
child of my own, smearing himself with the ashes of our own house-fire.'

He wrenched his knife from the turf, thrust it into his belt and stood
up.

'And yet, what else could I have done?' he said. 'The sheep are the
people.'

'It is a very old tale,' Puck answered. 'I have heard the like of it not
only on the Naked Chalk, but also among the Trees--under Oak, and Ash,
and Thorn.'

The afternoon shadows filled all the quiet emptiness of Norton Pit. The
children heard the sheep-bells and Young jim's busy bark above them, and
they scrambled up the slope to the level.

'We let you have your sleep out,' said Mr Dudeney, as the flock
scattered before them. 'It's making for tea-time now.'

'Look what I've found, said Dan, and held up a little blue flint
arrow-head as fresh as though it had been chipped that very day.

'Oh,' said Mr Dudeney, 'the closeter you be to the turf the more you're
apt to see things. I've found 'em often. Some says the fairies made 'em,
but I says they was made by folks like ourselves--only a goodish time
back. They're lucky to keep. Now, you couldn't ever have slept--not to
any profit--among your father's trees same as you've laid out on Naked
Chalk--could you?'

'One doesn't want to sleep in the woods,' said Una.

'Then what's the good of 'em?'