do so. He has some wondrous tale to tell us."

Howel beckoned to the harper, and signed to him, and the old man
rose at once and went to Thorgils. It was not the first time that
he had sung here, it was plain. Then I noted that the priest was
scowling fiercely at myself, and I wondered idly why. I supposed,
so far as I troubled to think thereof that he was one of those who
hated the very name of Saxon.

Now Thorgils took the harp without demur, smiling at the bard in
thanks, and so came forward into the space round which the tables
were set, while a silence fell on the company.

"If my song goeth not smoothly in the British tongue, Prince,
forgive me. I can but do my best. Truly, I have even now asked my
neighbour, Father Morfed, if it is fairly rendered, but I have not
had his answer yet."

He ran his hand over the already tuned strings, and lifted his
voice and began. It was not the first time that he had handled a
British harp, by any means, but if he played well he sang better. I
do not think that one need want to hear a finer voice than his; and
though he had seen fit to doubt his powers, his Welsh was as good
as mine, and maybe, by reason of constant use, far more easy.

And next moment I knew that he was going to sing nothing more or
less than of King Ina's Yule feast, and what happened thereat. He
had promised to tell the princess the story, and this was her
doing, of course. I could not stop him, and there I must sit and
listen to as highly coloured a tale as a poet could make of it.