"I drink the 'ealth of the 'ouse," he said, bending towards the owner of Endellion. "The Killigrews 'ave been called 'A grove ov aigels' (eagles); they 'ave flied 'igh; they 'ave stood avore kings, they 'ave. Ther've bin wisht times laately, but a better day es comin'. The raace 'ave allays bin great fer lovin' and drinkin' and fightin', and their sun es risin' again. I can zee et."
"May it come quickly!" cried Benet, a giant of a fellow. "There are no women to love around here—they are afraid of us; but drinking is always good; as for fighting, I long for the clash of steel."
All the brothers echoed this, save Otho; he looked steadily into the huge fireplace, and spoke not. From that moment I felt sure that he was the one selected to wed Nancy Molesworth.
Uncle Anthony touched his harp-strings and began to sing a plaintive song. I had heard it often before; but he sung with more feeling than did the drolls who had visited Trevanion. It was moreover peculiar to Cornwall, and, interspersed as it was by Uncle Anthony's explanations, caused even the hard-featured serving-women of Endellion to wipe their eyes. I will write it down here, for the song is being forgotten, while the fashion of receiving wandering story-tellers is fast dying out. This is how he sung it:
"Cowld blaws the wind to-day, sweet'art,
Cowld be the draps ov raain;
The fust trew-luv that ever I 'ad,
In the greenwud 'ee wos slain.
"'Twas daown in the gaarden-green, sweet'art,
Where you and I did waalk;