his hands were on his forehead. He was full of the fear of a God, but of me, a man, he had no fear when he asked. I did not kill him. I said, “Call the maiden." She came also without fear this very one that had waited for me, that had talked with me by our Dewponds. Being a Priestess, she lifted her eyes to me. As I look on a hill or a cloud, so she looked at me. She spoke in the Old Tongue which Priestesses use when they make prayers to the Old Dead in the Barrows. She asked leave that she might light the fire in my companion's house and that I should bless their children. I did not kill her. I heard my own voice, little and cold, say, “Let it be as you desire," and they went away hand in hand. My heart grew little and cold; a wind shouted in my ears; my eye darkened. I said to my Mother, "Can a God die?” I heard her say, "What is it? What is it, my son?” and I fell into darkness full of hammer-noises. I was not.'

'Oh, poor-poor God!' said Puck. And your wise Mother?'

'She knew. As soon as I dropped she knew. When my spirit came back I heard her whisper on 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's 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?' said Mr. Dudeney. 'Might as well set in the barn all day. Fetch 'em 'long, Jim boy!'

The Downs, that looked so bare and hot when they came, were full of delicious little shadow-dimples; the smell of the thyme and the salt mixed together on the south-west drift from the still sea; their eyes dazzled with the low sun, and the long grass under it looked golden. The sheep knew where their fold was, so Young Jim came back to his master, and they all four strolled home, the scabious-heads swishing about their ankles, and their shadows streaking behind them like the shadows of giants.

SONG OF THE MEN'S SIDE

ONCE We feared The Beast - when he followed us

we ran,

Ran very fast though we knew

It was not right that The Beast should master Man; But what could we Flint-workers do?

The Beast only grinned at our spears round his

Grinned at the hammers that we made;

But now we will hunt him for the life with the Knife

And this is the Buyer of the Blade!

Room for his shadow on the grass-let it pass!
To left and right — stand clear!

This is the Buyer of the Blade-be afraid!
This is the great god Tyr!

Tyr thought hard till he hammered out a plan,

For he knew it was not right

(And it is not right) that The Beast should master Man;

So he went to the Children of the Night.

He begged a Magic Knife of their make for our

sake.

When he begged for the Knife they said: "The price of the Knife you would buy is an eye!' And that was the price he paid.

Tell it to the Barrows of the Dead-run ahead!
Shout it so the Women's Side can hear!

This is the Buyer of the Blade - be afraid!
This is the great god Tyr!

Our women and our little ones may walk on the Chalk,

As far as we can see them and beyond.

We shall not be anxious for our sheep when we keep Tally at the shearing-pond.

We can eat with both our elbows on our knees, if we please,

We can sleep after meals in the sun;

For Shepherd of the Twilight is dismayed at the Blade, Feet-in-the-Night have run!

Dog-without-a-Master goes away (Hai, Tyr aie!), Devil-in-the-Dusk has run!

Then:

clear!

Room for his shadow on the grass-let it pass!
To left and right — stand
This is the Buyer of the Blade
This is the great god Tyr!

be afraid!