‘“I’m afraid not,” he said, rasping away at the hoof. He had a wonderful touch with horses. The old beast was whinnying on his shoulder. “You may remember that I was not a gentle God in my Day and my Time and my Power. I shall never be released till some human being truly wishes me well.” ‘“Surely,” said I, “the farmer can’t do less than that. You’re shoeing the horse all round for him.” ‘“Yes,” said he, “and my nails will hold a shoe from one full moon to the next. But farmers and Weald Clay,” said he, “are both uncommon cold and sour.” ‘Would you believe it, that when that farmer woke and found his horse shod he rode away without one word of thanks? I was so angry that I wheeled his horse right round and walked him back three miles to the Beacon just to teach the old sinner politeness.’ ‘Were you invisible?’ said Una. Puck nodded, gravely. ‘The Beacon was always laid in those days ready to light, in case the French landed at Pevensey; and I walked the horse about and about it that lee-long summer night. The farmer thought he was bewitched—well, he _was_, of course—and began to pray and shout. _I_ didn’t care! I was as good a Christian as he any fair-day in the County, and about four o’clock in the morning a young novice came along from the monastery that used to stand on the top of Beacon hill.’ ‘What’s a novice?’ said Dan. ‘It really means a man who is beginning to be a monk, but in those days people sent their sons to a monastery just the same as a school. This young fellow had been to a monastery in France for a few months every year, and he was finishing his studies in the monastery close to his home here. Hugh was his name, and he had got up to go fishing hereabouts. His people owned all this valley. Hugh heard the farmer shouting, and asked him what in the world he meant. The old man spun him a wonderful tale about fairies and goblins and witches; and I _know_ he hadn’t seen a thing except rabbits and red deer all that night. (The People of the Hills are like otters—they don’t show except when they choose.) But the novice wasn’t a fool. He looked down at the horse’s feet, and saw the new shoes fastened as only Weland knew how to fasten ’em. (Weland had a way of turning down the nails that folks called the Smith’s Clinch.) ‘“H’m!” said the novice. “Where did you get your horse shod?”