“Up the airy mountain
Down the rushing glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk.
Trooping altogether;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather.”
“They don’t sound altogether friendly,” said David as she stopped.
“Oh,” she assured him, “they are only unfriendly towards those who dislike and fear them. Those who fear them have to be constantly propitiating them. There’s nothing they hate like fear, and therefore they demand toll from cowards. For those who love the Little People—you should hear my small son Patrick talk about them,” she ended.