‘She said, “He who has done a God-like thing must bear himself like a God. I see no way out of it. The people are now your sheep till you die. You cannot drive them off.” ‘I said, “This is a heavier sheep than I can lift.” She said, “In time it will grow easy. In time perhaps you will not lay it down for any maiden anywhere. Be wise--be very wise, my son, for nothing is left you except the words, and the songs, and the worship of a God.” ‘Oh, poor God!’ said Puck. ‘But those are not altogether bad things.’ ‘I know they are not; but I would sell them all--all--all for one small child of my own, smearing himself with the ashes of our own house-fire.’ He wrenched his knife from the turf, thrust it into his belt and stood up. ‘And yet, what else could I have done?’ he said. ‘The sheep are the people.’ ‘It is a very old tale,’ Puck answered. ‘I have heard the like of it not only on the Naked Chalk, but also among the Trees--under Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.’ The afternoon shadows filled all the quiet emptiness of Norton Pit. The children heard the sheep-bells and Young jim’s busy bark above them, and they scrambled up the slope to the level. ‘We let you have your sleep out,’ said Mr Dudeney, as the flock scattered before them. ‘It’s making for tea-time now.’ ‘Look what I’ve found, said Dan, and held up a little blue flint arrow-head as fresh as though it had been chipped that very day. ‘Oh,’ said Mr Dudeney, ‘the closeter you be to the turf the more you’re apt to see things. I’ve found ‘em often. Some says the fairies made ‘em, but I says they was made by folks like ourselves--only a goodish time back. They’re lucky to keep. Now, you couldn’t ever have slept--not to any profit--among your father’s trees same as you’ve laid out on Naked Chalk--could you?’ ‘One doesn’t want to sleep in the woods,’ said Una. ‘Then what’s the good of ‘em?’ said Mr Dudeney. ‘Might as well set in the barn all day. Fetch ‘em ‘long, Jim boy!’ The Downs, that looked so bare and hot when they came, were full of delicious little shadow-dimples; the smell of the thyme and the salt mixed together on the south-west drift from the still sea; their eyes dazzled with the low sun, and the long grass under it looked golden. The sheep knew where their fold was, so Young Jim came back to his master, and they all four strolled home, the scabious-heads swishing about their ankles, and their shadows streaking behind them like the shadows of giants. Song of the Men’s Side Once we feared The Beast--when he followed us we ran, Ran very fast though we knew It was not right that The Beast should master Man; But what could we Flint-workers do? The Beast only grinned at our spears round his ears-- Grinned at the hammers that we made; But now we will hunt him for the life with the Knife-- And this is the Buyer of the Blade!