when Owen Griffiths had finished his evening meal she was there,
ready with a hope that it had done him good, and was to his mind, and
a word of intelligence that the wedding-folk were about to dance in
the kitchen, and the harper was the famous Edward of Corwen.

Owen, partly from good-natured compliance with his hostess's implied
wish, and partly from curiosity, lounged to the passage which led to
the kitchen--not the every-day, working, cooking kitchen, which was
behind, but a good-sized room, where the mistress sat, when her work
was done, and where the country people were commonly entertained at
such merry-makings as the present. The lintels of the door formed a
frame for the animated picture which Owen saw within, as he leaned
against the wall in the dark passage. The red light of the fire,
with every now and then a falling piece of turf sending forth a fresh
blaze, shone full upon four young men who were dancing a measure
something like a Scotch reel, keeping admirable time in their rapid
movements to the capital tune the harper was playing. They had their
hats on when Owen first took his stand, but as they grew more and
more animated they flung them away, and presently their shoes were
kicked off with like disregard to the spot where they might happen to
alight. Shouts of applause followed any remarkable exertion of
agility, in which each seemed to try to excel his companions. At
length, wearied and exhausted, they sat down, and the harper
gradually changed to one of those wild, inspiring national airs for
which he was so famous. The thronged audience sat earnest and
breathless, and you might have heard a pin drop, except when some
maiden passed hurriedly, with flaring candle and busy look, through
to the real kitchen beyond. When he had finished his beautiful theme
on "The March of the men of Harlech," he changed the measure again to
"Tri chant o' bunnan" (Three hundred pounds), and immediately a most