‘Because I knew the Smith that made it,’ said Puck quietly.
‘Wayland Smith?’[1]. Una suggested.
‘No. I should have passed the time o’ day with Wayland Smith, of course. This other was different. So’ — Puck made a queer crescent in the air with his finger — ‘I counted the blades of grass under my nose till the wind dropped and he had gone — he and his Hammer.’
‘Was it Thor then?’ Una murmured under her breath.
‘Who else? It was Thor’s own day.’ Puck repeated the sign. ‘I didn’t tell Sir Huon or his Lady what I’d seen. Borrow trouble for yourself if that’s your nature, but don’t lend it to your neighbours. Moreover, I might have been mistaken about the Smith’s work. He might have been making things for mere amusement, though it wasn’t like him, or he might have thrown away an old piece of made iron. One can never be sure. So I held my tongue and enjoyed the babe. He was a wonderful child — and the People of the Hills were so set on him, they wouldn’t have believed me. He took to me wonderfully. As soon as he could walk he’d putter forth with me all about my Hill here. Fern makes soft falling! He knew when day broke on earth above, for he’d thump, thump, thump, like an old buck-rabbit in a bury and I’d hear him say "Opy!" till some one who knew the Charm let him out, and then it would be "Robin!
- ↑ See ‘Weland's Sword’ in Puck of Pook's Hill
