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…So long as Whitgift blood lasted, Robin promised there would allers be one of her stock that – that no Trouble ‘ud lie on, no Maid ‘ud sigh on, no Night could frighten, no Fright could harm, no Harm could make sin, an’ no Woman could make a fool of’. ‘Well, ain’t that just me?’ said the Bee Boy, where he sat in the silver square of the great September moon that was staring into the oast-house door…


This is from “Dymchurch Flit” in Puck of Pook’s Hill.

Puck, in the shape of Tom Shoesmith, has told the tale of how the last of the ‘Pharisees’ – the fairies – had persuaded the Widow Whitgift to lend them her two sons to ferrry them away out of England. After Henry VIII’s Reformation they believed Merry England was done with, and they were ‘reckoned among the images’.

In return, they had made her this promise.