Puck of Pook's Hill

Part 1

PUCK OF POOK’S HILL

BOOKS BY RUDYARD KIPLING

PUCK OF POOK’S HILL THEY TRAFFICS AND DISCOVERIES THE FIVE NATIONS THE JUST SO SONG BOOK JUST SO STORIES KIM STALKY & CO. THE DAY’S WORK THE BRUSHWOOD BOY FROM SEA TO SEA DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES AND BALLADS AND BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS THE LIGHT THAT FAILED LIFE’S HANDICAP: BEING STORIES OF MINE OWN PEOPLE UNDER THE DEODARS, THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW, AND WEE WILLIE WINKIE SOLDIERS THREE, THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, AND IN BLACK AND WHITE SOLDIER STORIES THE KIPLING BIRTHDAY BOOK (WITH WOLCOTT BALESTIER) THE NAULAHKA

Puck of Pook’s Hill

By Rudyard Kipling

Illustrated by Arthur Rackham, A.R.W.S.

NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1906

Copyright, 1905, 1906, by RUDYARD KIPLING Published, October, 1906

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian

ROBIN GOODFELLOW—HIS FRIENDS

By RUDYARD KIPLING

I. A Centurion of the Thirtieth. II. On the Great Wall. III. The Winged Hats. IV. Hal o’ the Draft. V. Dymchurch Flit. VI. The Treasure and the Law.

Copyright, 1906, by RUDYARD KIPLING.

CONTENTS

PAGE Puck’s Song 1 Weland’s Sword 5 A Tree Song 29 Young Men at the Manor 33 Sir Richard’s Song 55 Harp Song of the Dane Women 59 The Knights of the Joyous Venture 61 Thorkild’s Song 87 Old Men at Pevensey 91 The Runes on Weland’s Sword 119 A Centurion of the Thirtieth 125 A British-Roman Song 145 On the Great Wall 149 A Song to Mithras 173 The Winged Hats 177 A Pict Song 201 Hal o’ the Draft 207 A Smugglers’ Song 227 The Bee Boy’s Song 231 ‘Dymchurch Flit’ 233 A Three-Part Song 251 Song of the Fifth River 255 The Treasure and the Law 257 The Children’s Song 276

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

‘“Go!” she says, “Go with my Leave an’ Goodwill.”’ Frontispiece FACING PAGE In the very spot where Dan had stood as Puck they saw a 6 small, brown, broad-shouldered, pointy-eared person with a snub nose, slanting blue eyes, and a grin that ran right across his freckled face. ‘There’s where you meet hunters, and trappers for the 152 Circuses, prodding along chained bears and muzzled wolves.’ ‘Hoity-toity!’ he cried. ‘Here’s Pride in purple 212 feathers! Here’s wrathy contempt and the Pomps of the Flesh!’... And he doffed his cap to the bubbling bird.

PUCK OF POOK’S HILL

PUCK’S SONG

See you the dimpled track that runs, All hollow through the wheat? O that was where they hauled the guns That smote King Philip’s fleet.

See you our little mill that clacks, So busy by the brook? She has ground her corn and paid her tax Ever since Domesday Book.

See you our stilly woods of oak, And the dread ditch beside? O that was where the Saxons broke, On the day that Harold died.

See you the windy levels spread About the gates of Rye? O that was where the Northmen fled, When Alfred’s ships came by.

See you our pastures wide and lone, Where the red oxen browse? O there was a City thronged and known, Ere London boasted a house.

And see you, after rain, the trace Of mound and ditch and wall? O that was a Legion’s camping-place, When Cæsar sailed from Gaul.

And see you marks that show and fade, Like shadows on the Downs? O they are the lines the Flint Men made, To guard their wondrous towns.

Trackway and Camp and City lost, Salt Marsh where now is corn; Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease, And so was England born!

She is not any common Earth, Water or wood or air, But Merlin’s Isle of Gramarye, Where you and I will fare.

Part 2

WELAND’S SWORD

WELAND’S SWORD(1)

The children were at the Theatre, acting to Three Cows as much as they could remember of Midsummer Night’s Dream. Their father had made them a small play out of the big Shakespeare one, and they had rehearsed it with him and with their mother till they could say it by heart. They began where Nick Bottom the weaver comes out of the bushes with a donkey’s head on his shoulder, and finds Titania, Queen of the Fairies, asleep. Then they skipped to the part where Bottom asks three little fairies to scratch his head and bring him honey, and they ended where he falls asleep in Titania’s arms. Dan was Puck and Nick Bottom, as well as all three Fairies. He wore a pointy-eared cloth cap for Puck, and a paper donkey’s head out of a Christmas cracker—but it tore if you were not careful—for Bottom. Una was Titania, with a wreath of columbines and a foxglove wand.

The Theatre lay in a meadow called the Long Slip. A little mill-stream, carrying water to a mill two or three fields away, bent round one corner of it, and in the middle of the bend lay a large old fairy Ring of darkened grass, which was their stage. The mill-stream banks, overgrown with willow, hazel, and guelder rose made convenient places to wait in till your turn came; and a grown-up who had seen it said that Shakespeare himself could not have imagined a more suitable setting for his play. They were not, of course, allowed to act on Midsummer Night itself, but they went down after tea on Midsummer Eve, when the shadows were growing, and they took their supper—hard-boiled eggs, Bath Oliver biscuits, and salt in an envelope—with them. Three Cows had been milked and were grazing steadily with a tearing noise that one could hear all down the meadow; and the noise of the mill at work sounded like bare feet running on hard ground. A cuckoo sat on a gatepost singing his broken June tune, ‘cuckoo-cuk,’ while a busy kingfisher crossed from the mill-stream to the brook which ran on the other side of the meadow. Everything else was a sort of thick, sleepy stillness smelling of meadow-sweet and dry grass.

Their play went beautifully. Dan remembered all his parts—Puck, Bottom, and the three Fairies—and Una never forgot a word of Titania—not even the difficult piece where she tells the Fairies how to feed Bottom with ‘apricocks, ripe figs, and dewberries,’ and all the lines end in ‘ies.’ They were both so pleased that they acted it three times over from beginning to end before they sat down in the unthistly centre of the Ring to eat eggs and Bath Olivers. This was when they heard a whistle among the alders on the bank, and they jumped.

The bushes parted. In the very spot where Dan had stood as Puck they saw a small, brown, broad-shouldered, pointy-eared person with a snub nose, slanting blue eyes, and a grin that ran right across his freckled face. He shaded his forehead as though he were watching Quince, Snout, Bottom, and the others rehearsing Pyramus and Thisbe, and, in a voice as deep as Three Cows asking to be milked, he began:

‘What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, So near the cradle of our fairy Queen?’

He stopped, hollowed one hand round his ear, and, with a wicked twinkle in his eye, went on:

‘What a play toward? I’ll be auditor, An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.’

The children looked and gasped. The small thing—he was no taller than Dan’s shoulder—stepped quietly into the Ring.

‘I’m rather out of practice,’ said he; ‘but that’s the way my part ought to be played.’

Still the children stared at him—from his dark blue cap, like a big columbine flower, to his bare, hairy feet. At last he laughed.

‘Please don’t look like that. It isn’t my fault. What else could you expect?’ he said.

‘We didn’t expect any one,’ Dan answered, slowly. ‘This is our field.’

‘Is it?’ said their visitor, sitting down. ‘Then what on Human Earth made you act Midsummer Night’s Dream three times over, on Midsummer Eve, in the middle of a Ring, and under—right under one of my oldest hills in Old England? Pook’s Hill—Puck’s Hill—Puck’s Hill—Pook’s Hill! It’s as plain as the nose on my face.’

He pointed to the bare, fern-covered slope of Pook’s Hill that runs up from the far side of the mill-stream to a dark wood. Beyond that wood the ground rises and rises for five hundred feet, till at last you climb out on the bare top of Beacon Hill, to look over the Pevensey Levels and the Channel and half the naked South Downs.

‘By Oak, Ash, and Thorn!’ he cried, still laughing. ‘If this had happened a few hundred years ago you’d have had all the People of the Hills out like bees in June!’

‘We didn’t know it was wrong,’ said Dan.

‘Wrong!’ The little fellow shook with laughter. ‘Indeed, it isn’t wrong. You’ve done something that Kings and Knights and Scholars in old days would have given their crowns and spurs and books to find out. If Merlin himself had helped you, you couldn’t have managed better! You’ve broken the Hills—you’ve broken the Hills! It hasn’t happened in a thousand years.’

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