Sir Richard crossed hands on his sword-hilt, and stared down stream through the soft warm shadows. ‘A whole shipload of gold!’ said Una, looking at the little _Golden Hind_. ‘But I’m glad I didn’t see the Devils.’ ‘I don’t believe they were Devils,’ Dan whispered back. ‘Eh?’ said Sir Richard. ‘Witta’s father warned him they were unquestionable Devils. One must believe one’s father, and not one’s children. What were my Devils, then?’ Dan flushed all over. ‘I—I only thought,’ he stammered; ‘I’ve got a book called _The Gorilla Hunters_—it’s a continuation of _Coral Island_, sir—and it says there that the gorillas (they’re big monkeys, you know) were always chewing iron up.’ ‘Not always,’ said Una. ‘Only twice.’ They had been reading _The Gorilla Hunters_ in the orchard. ‘Well, anyhow, they always drummed on their chests, like Sir Richard’s did, before they went for people. And they built houses in trees, too.’ ‘Ha!’ Sir Richard opened his eyes. ‘Houses like flat nests did our Devils make, where their imps lay and looked at us. I did not see them (I was sick after the fight), but Witta told me and, lo, ye know it also? Wonderful! Were our Devils only nest-building apes? Is there no sorcery left in the world?’ ‘I don’t know,’ answered Dan, uncomfortably. ‘I’ve seen a man take rabbits out of a hat, and he told us we could see how he did it, if we watched hard. And we did.’ ‘But we didn’t,’ said Una sighing. ‘Oh! there’s Puck!’ The little fellow, brown and smiling, peered between two stems of an ash, nodded, and slid down the bank into the cool beside them. ‘No sorcery, Sir Richard?’ he laughed, and blew on a full dandelion head he had picked. ‘They tell me that Witta’s Wise Iron was a toy. The boy carries such an Iron with him. They tell me our Devils were apes, called gorillas!’ said Sir Richard, indignantly. ‘That is the sorcery of books,’ said Puck. ‘I warned thee they were wise children. All people can be wise by reading of books.’ ‘But are the books true?’ Sir Richard frowned. ‘I like not all this reading and writing.’ ‘Ye-es,’ said Puck, holding the naked dandelion head at arm’s length. ‘But if we hang all fellows who write falsely, why did De Aquila not begin with Gilbert, the Clerk? _He_ was false enough.’ ‘Poor false Gilbert. Yet in his fashion, he was bold,’ said Sir Richard. ‘What did he do?’ said Dan. ‘He wrote,’ said Sir Richard. ‘Is the tale meet for children, think you?’ He looked at Puck; but, ‘Tell us! Tell us!’ cried Dan and Una together. THORKILD’S SONG _There is no wind along these seas,_ Out oars for Stavanger! Forward all for Stavanger! _So we must wake the white-ash breeze,_ Let fall for Stavanger! A long pull for Stavanger! _Oh, hear the benches creak and strain!_ (A long pull for Stavanger!) _She thinks she smells the Northland rain!_ (A long pull for Stavanger!) _She thinks she smells the Northland snow,_ _And she’s as glad as we to go!_