'Not old--fairly long-lived, as folk say hereabouts. Let me see--my
friends used to set my dish of cream for me o' nights when Stonehenge
was new. Yes, before the Flint Men made the Dewpond under Chanctonbury
Ring.'

Una clasped her hands, cried 'Oh!' and nodded her head.

'She's thought a plan,' Dan explained. 'She always does like that when
she thinks a plan.'

'I was thinking--suppose we saved some of our porridge and put it in the
attic for you? They'd notice if we left it in the nursery.'

'Schoolroom,' said Dan quickly, and Una flushed, because they had made a
solemn treaty that summer not to call the schoolroom the nursery any
more.

'Bless your heart o' gold!' said Puck. 'You'll make a fine considering
wench some market-day. I really don't want you to put out a bowl for me;
but if ever I need a bite, be sure I'll tell you.'

He stretched himself at length on the dry grass, and the children
stretched out beside him, their bare legs waving happily in the air.
They felt they could not be afraid of him any more than of their
particular friend old Hobden the hedger. He did not bother them with
grown-up questions, or laugh at the donkey's head, but lay and smiled to
himself in the most sensible way.

'Have you a knife on you?' he said at last.