Dan, uncomfortably. 'I've seen a man take rabbits
out of a hat, and he told us we could see how he did it, if we watched
hard. And we did.'

'But we didn't,' said Una sighing. 'Oh! there's Puck!'

The little fellow, brown and smiling, peered between two stems of an ash,
nodded, and slid down the bank into the cool beside them.

'No sorcery, Sir Richard?' he laughed, and blew on a full dandelion head
he had picked.

'They tell me that Witta's Wise Iron was a toy. The boy carries such an
Iron with him. They tell me our Devils were apes, called gorillas!' said
Sir Richard, indignantly.

'That is the sorcery of books,' said Puck. 'I warned thee they were wise
children. All people can be wise by reading of books.'

'But are the books true?' Sir Richard frowned. 'I like not all this
reading and writing.'

'Ye-es,' said Puck, holding the naked dandelion head at arm's length. 'But
if we hang all fellows who write falsely, why did De Aquila not begin with
Gilbert, the Clerk? _He_ was false enough.'

'Poor false Gilbert. Yet in his fashion, he was bold,' said Sir Richard.

'What did he do?' said Dan.

'He wrote,' said Sir Richard. 'Is the tale meet for children, think you?'
He looked at Puck; but, 'Tell us! Tell us!' cried Dan and Una together.

THORKILD'S SONG

_There is no wind along these seas,_
Out oars for Stavanger!
Forward all for Stavanger!
_So we must wake the white-ash breeze,_
Let fall for Stavanger!
A long pull for Stavanger!

_Oh, hear the benches creak and strain!_
(A long pull for Stavanger!)
_She thinks she smells the Northland rain!_
(A long pull for Stavanger!)

_She thinks she smells the Northland snow,_
_And she's as glad as we to go!_

_She thinks she smells the Northland rime,_
_And the dear dark nights of winter-time._

_Her very bolts are sick for shore,_
_And we--we want it ten times more!_

_Hoe--all you Gods that love brave men,_
_Send us a three-reef gale again!_

_Send us a gale, and watch us come,_
_With close-cropped canvas slashing home!_

But--_there's no wind in all these seas,_
A long pull for Stavanger!
_So we must wake the white-ash breeze,_
A long pull for Stavanger!

OLD MEN AT PEVENSEY

OLD MEN AT PEVENSEY

'It has nought to do with apes or devils,' Sir Richard went on, in an
undertone. 'It concerns De Aquila, than whom there was never bolder nor
craftier, nor more har