He told me so himself , ' said Dan . ` He 's a intimate friend of ours . ' ` You 're quite right , ' Puck replied . ' I meant old Hobden 's ninth great-grandfather . He was a free man and burned charcoal hereabouts . I 've known the family , father and son , so long that I get confused sometimes . Hob of the Dene was my Hobden 's name , and he lived at the Forge cottage . Of course , I pricked up my ears when I heard Weland mentioned , and I scuttled through the woods to the Ford just beyond Bog Wood yonder . ' He jerked his head westward , where the valley narrows between wooded hills and steep hop-fields . ` Why , that 's Willingford Bridge , ' said Una . ` We go there for walks often . There 's a kingfisher there . ' ` It was Weland 's Ford then , dear . A road led down to it from the Beacon on the top of the hill -- a shocking bad road it was -- and all the hillside was thick , thick oak-forest , with deer in it . There was no trace of Weland , but presently I saw a fat old farmer riding down from the Beacon under the greenwood tree . His horse had cast a shoe in the clay , and when he came to the Ford he dismounted , took a penny out of his purse , laid it on a stone , tied the old horse to an oak , and called out : `` Smith , Smith , here is work for you ! '' Then he sat down and went to sleep . You can imagine how I felt when I saw a white-bearded , bent old blacksmith in a leather apron creep out from behind the oak and begin to shoe the horse . It was Weland himself . I was so astonished that I jumped out and said : `` What on Human Earth are you doing here , Weland ? '' '
` Poor XXXXX ! '
Bridge Dan Dene Ford Hobden Smith Una Weland hop-fields oak-forest