they're all pale white, and my toes are squidged together awfully.'

'Yes - boots make a difference.' Puck wriggled his brown,
square, hairy foot, and cropped a dandelion flower between the
big toe and the next.

'I could do that - last year,' Dan said dismally, as he tried and
failed. 'And boots simply ruin one's climbing.'

'There must be some advantage to them, I suppose,'said Puck,
or folk wouldn't wear them. Shall we come this way?'
They sauntered along side by side till they reached the gate at
the far end of the hillside. Here they halted just like cattle, and let
the sun warm their backs while they listened to the flies in the wood.

'Little Lindens is awake,' said Una, as she hung with her chin
on the top rail. 'See the chimney smoke?'

'Today's Thursday, isn't it?' Puck turned to look at the old pink
farmhouse across the little valley. 'Mrs Vincey's baking day.
Bread should rise well this weather.' He yawned, and that set
them both yawning.

The bracken about rustled and ticked and shook in every direction.
They felt that little crowds were stealing past.

'Doesn't that sound like - er - the People of the Hills?'said Una.

'It's the birds and wild things drawing up to the woods before
people get about,' said Puck, as though he were Ridley the keeper.