l see and you shall hear What you shall hear,
though It shall have happened three thousand year; and you shall know
neither Doubt nor Fear. Fast! Hold fast all I give you.'

The children shut their eyes, but nothing happened.

'Well?' said Una, disappointedly opening them. 'I thought there would be
dragons.'

'Though It shall have happened three thousand year,' said Puck, and
counted on his fingers. 'No; I'm afraid there were no dragons three
thousand years ago.'

'But there hasn't happened anything at all,' said Dan.

'Wait awhile,' said Puck. 'You don't grow an oak in a year--and Old
England's older than twenty oaks. Let's sit down again and think. _I_ can
do that for a century at a time.'

'Ah, but you are a fairy,' said Dan.

'Have you ever heard me use that word yet?' said Puck, quickly.

'No. You talk about "the People of the Hills," but you never say
"fairies,"' said Una. 'I was wondering at that. Don't you like it?'

'How would you like to be called "mortal" or "human being" all the time?'
said Puck; 'or "son of Adam" or "daughter of Eve"?'

'I shouldn't like it at all,' said Dan. 'That's how the Djinns and Afrits
talk in the _Arabian Nights_.'

'And that's how _I_ feel about saying--that word that I don't say. Besides,
what you call _them_ are made-up things the People of the Hills have never
heard of--little buzzflies with butterfly wings and gauze petticoats, and
shiny stars in their hair, and a wand like a schoolteacher's cane for
punishing bad boys and rewarding good ones. _I_ know 'em!'

'We don't mean that sort,' said Dan. 'We hate 'em too.'

'Exactly,' said Puck. 'Can you wonder that the People of the Hills don't
care to be confused with that painty-winged, wand-waving,
sugar-and-shake-your-head set of impostors? Butterfly wings, indeed! I've
seen Sir Huon and a troop of his people setting off from Tintagel Castle
for Hy-Brasil in the teeth of a sou'-westerly gale, with the spray flying
all over the castle, and the Horses of the Hill wild with fright. Out
they'd go in a lull, screaming like gulls, and back they'd be driven five
good miles inland before they could come head to wind again.
Butterfly-wings! It was Magic--Magic as black as Merlin could make it, and
the whole sea was green fire and white foam with singing mermaids in it.
And the Horses of the Hill picked their way from one wave to another by
the lightning flashes! _That_ was how it was in the old days!'

'Splendid,' said Dan,