'I'm glad they're gone, then; but what made the People of the Hills go
away?' Una asked.

'Different things. I'll tell you one of them some day--the thing that
made the biggest flit of any,' said Puck. 'But they didn't all flit at
once. They dropped off, one by one, through the centuries. Most of them
were foreigners who couldn't stand our climate. _They_ flitted early.'

'How early?' said Dan.

'A couple of thousand years or more. The fact is they began as Gods. The
Phoenicians brought some over when they came to buy tin; and the Gauls,
and the Jutes, and the Danes, and the Frisians, and the Angles brought
more when they landed. They were always landing in those days, or being
driven back to their ships, and they always brought their Gods with
them. England is a bad country for Gods. Now, _I_ began as I mean to go
on. A bowl of porridge, a dish of milk, and a little quiet fun with the
country folk in the lanes was enough for me then, as it is now. I belong
here, you see, and I have been mixed up with people all my days. But
most of the others insisted on being Gods, and having temples, and
altars, and priests, and sacrifices of their own.'

'People burned in wicker baskets?' said Dan. 'Like Miss Blake tells us
about?'

'All sorts of sacrifices,' said Puck. 'If it wasn't men, it was horses,
or cattle, or pigs, or metheglin--that's a sticky, sweet sort of beer.
_I_ never liked it. They were a stiff-necked, extravagant set of idols,
the Old Things. But what was the result? Men don't like being sacrificed