The Border—Thank you Both—Pipe and Fiddle—Taliesin.
We were now drawing very near the hills, and Peter said, “If you are to go into Wales, you must presently decide, for we are close upon the border.”
“Which is the border?” said I.
“Yon small brook,” said Peter, “into which the man on horseback who is coming towards us, is now entering.”
“I see it,” said I, “and the man; he stops in the middle of it, as if to water his steed.”
We proceeded till we had nearly reached the brook. “Well,” said Peter, “will you go into Wales?”
“What should I do in Wales?” I demanded.
“Do!” said Peter, smiling, “learn Welsh.”
I stopped my little pony. “Then I need not go into Wales; I already know Welsh.”
“Know Welsh!” said Peter, staring at me.