They traced it into Three Cows meadow, over the mill-sluice to the Forge, round Hobden’s garden, and then up the slope till it ran out on the short turf and fern of Pook’s Hill, and they heard the cock-pheasants crowing in the woods behind them.
‘No use!’ said Dan, questing like a puzzled hound. ‘The dew’s drying off, and old Hobden says otters’ll travel for miles.’
‘I’m sure we’ve travelled miles.’ Una fanned herself with her hat. ‘How still it is! It’s going to be a regular roaster.’ She looked down the valley, where no chimney yet smoked.
‘Hobden’s up!’ Dan pointed to the open door of the Forge cottage. ‘What d’you suppose he has for breakfast?’
‘One of them. He says they eat good all times of the year.’ Una jerked her head at some stately pheasants going down to the brook for a drink.
A few steps farther on a fox broke almost under their bare feet, yapped, and trotted off.
‘Ah, Mus’ Reynolds — Mus’ Reynolds,’ — Dan was quoting from old Hobden — ‘If I knowed all you knowed, I’d know something.’[1] ‘I say,’ Una lowered her voice, ‘you know that funny feeling of things having happened before. I felt it when you said "Mus’ Reynolds."’
‘So did I,’ Dan began. ‘What is it?’
They faced each other stammering with excitement.
‘Wait a shake! I’ll remember in a minute. Wasn’t
- ↑ See 'The Winged Hats' in Puck of Pook's Hill.
