'Show, boy! Show!' said Dan, for the Downs seemed as bare as the palm of your hand. Old Jim sighed, and trotted forward. Soon they spied the blob of Mr. Dudeney's hat against the sky a long way off. 'Right! All right!' said Dan. Old Jim wheeled round, took his bone carefully between his blunted teeth, and returned to the shadow of the old barn, looking just like a wolf. The children went on. Two kestrels hung bivvering and squealing above them. A gull flapped lazily along the white edge of the cliffs. The curves of the Downs shook a little in the heat, and so did Mr. Dudeney's distant head. They walked toward it very slowly and found themselves staring into a horse-shoe-shaped hollow a hundred feet deep, whose steep sides were laced with tangled sheep-tracks. The flock grazed on the flat at the bottom, under charge of Young Jim. Mr. Dudeney sat comfortably knitting on the edge of the slope, his crook between his knees. They told him what Old Jim had done. 'Ah, he thought you could see my head as soon as he did. The closeter you be to the turf the more you see things. You look warm-like,' said Mr. Dudeney. 'We be,' said Una, flopping down. '_And_ tired.' 'Set beside o' me here. The shadow'll begin to stretch out in a little while, and a heat-shake o' wind will come up with it that'll overlay your eyes like so much wool.' 'We don't want to sleep,' said Una indignantly; but she settled herself as she spoke, in the first strip of early afternoon shade. 'O' course not. You come to talk with me same as your father used. _He_ didn't need no dog to guide him to Norton Pit.' 'Well, he belonged here,' said Dan, and laid himself down at length on the turf. 'He did. And what beats me is why he went off to live among them messy trees in the Weald, when he might ha' stayed here and looked all about him. There's no profit to trees. They draw the lightning, and sheep shelter under 'em, and _so_, like as not, you'll lose a half score ewes struck dead in one storm. Tck! Your father knew that.' 'Trees aren't messy.' Una rose on her elbow. 'And what about firewood? I don't like coal.' 'Eh? You lie a piece more up-hill and you'll lie more natural,' said Mr. Dudeney, with his provoking deaf smile. 'Now press your face down and smell to the turf. That's Southdown thyme which makes our Southdown mutton beyond compare, and, my mother told me, 'twill cure anything except broken necks, or hearts. I forget which.' They sniffed, and somehow forgot to lift their cheeks from the soft thymy cushions. 'You don't get nothing like that in the Weald. Watercress, maybe?' said Mr. Dudeney. 'But we've water--brooks full of it--where you paddle in hot weather,' Una replied, watching a yellow-and-violet-banded snail-shell close to her eye. 'Brooks flood. Then you must shift your sheep--let alone foot-rot afterward. I put more dependence on a dew-pond any day.' 'How's a dew-pond made?' said Dan, and tilted his hat over his eyes. Mr. Dudeney explained.