‘Yes. That’s my name, Mus’ Dan,’ he said, hurrying over the silent shining lawn, where a rabbit sat by the big white-thorn near the croquet ground. ‘Here you be.’ He strode into the old kitchen yard, and slid them down as Ellen came to ask questions. ‘I’m helping in Mus’ Spray’s oast-house,’ he said to her. ‘No, I’m no foreigner. I knowed this country ’fore your Mother was born; an’—yes it’s dry work oasting, Miss. Thank you.’ Ellen went to get a jug, and the children went in—magicked once more by Oak, Ash, and Thorn! A THREE-PART SONG _I’m just in love with all these three,_ _The Weald and the Marsh and the Down countrie;_ _Nor I don’t know which I love the most,_ _The Weald or the Marsh or the white chalk coast!_ _I’ve buried my heart in a ferny hill,_ _Twix’ a liddle low Shaw an’ a great high Gill._ _Oh hop-vine yaller and woodsmoke blue,_ _I reckon you’ll keep her middling true!_ _I’ve loosed my mind for to out and run,_ _On a Marsh that was old when Kings begun;_ _Oh Romney Level and Brenzett reeds,_ _I reckon you know what my mind needs!_ _I’ve given my soul to the Southdown grass,_ _And sheep-bells tinkled where you pass._ _Oh Firle an’ Ditchling an’ sails at sea,_ _I reckon you’ll keep my soul or me!_ THE TREASURE AND THE LAW SONG OF THE FIFTH RIVER _When first by Eden Tree,_ _The Four Great Rivers ran,_ _To each was appointed a Man_ _Her Prince and Ruler to be._ _But after this was ordained,_ _(The ancient legends tell),_ _There came dark Israel,_ _For whom no River remained._ _Then He That is Wholly Just,_ _Said to him: ‘Fling on the ground_ _A handful of yellow dust,_ _And a Fifth Great River shall run,_ _Mightier than these Four,_ _In secret the Earth around;_ _And Her secret evermore,_ _Shall be shown to thee and thy Race.’_ _So it was said and done._ _And, deep in the veins of Earth,_ _And, fed by a thousand springs_ _That comfort the market-place,_ _Or sap the power of Kings,_ _The Fifth Great River had birth,_ _Even as it was foretold—_ _The Secret River of Gold!_ _And Israel laid down_ _His sceptre and his crown,_ _To brood on that River bank,_ _Where the waters flashed and sank,_ _And burrowed in earth and fell,_ _And bided a season below;_ _For reason that none might know,_ _Save only Israel._ _He is Lord of the Last—_ _The Fifth, most wonderful, Flood._ _He hears her thunder past_ _And Her Song is in his blood._ _He can foresay: ‘She will fall,’_ _For he knows which fountain dries,_ _Behind which desert belt_ _A thousand leagues to the South._ _He can foresay: ‘She will rise.’_ _He knows what far snows melt;_ _Along what mountain wall_ _A thousand leagues to the North._ _He snuffs the coming drouth_ _As he snuffs the coming rain,_ _He knows what each will bring forth_ _And turns it to his gain._