"'Tis Uncle Billy, the droll teller," said the squire to one of his eastern friends in a side tone, and then to the new arrival, "Welcome to the Manor Hall, Uncle Billy, and to our Christmas cheer. Come nigh the fire and get thy fingers loosened up, for we must have a tune to-night."
Uncle Billy, the droll, sat himself near the yule log and, while he warmed up his cold hands, entered into conversation with the squire and one or two of his elder friends.
The droll teller of Cornwall was a privileged character in the olden times. Somewhat embodying the profession of the minstrel and the story-teller, he was always assured of a ready welcome. For ages the western part of Saxon England terminated at the River Tamar, and the people west of that stream, girt with hills and wild moors, had little communication with the outside world. Hence when the profession of the minstrel began to decline in the days of Elizabeth, this section gave it a ready welcome and asylum. The lack of railways and newspapers gave the droll the profession of a news courier, and at any house he tarried he was regarded with favour and reverence. How they stood around him in the evening hours, in cottage or hall, and listened with eager interest to the news of the great outside world, and how with awe upon their faces they listened to the tales of Tregeagle, the giant Cormoran of St. Michael's Mount! Many knew the tales, but none could tell them with the vivid realism of the droll, and then how the eyes of the youths would flash at the tales of King Arthur, the greatest king of the Cornish line.
Of all droll tellers, Uncle Billy was the most loved and the most famous. He could enter into the cottages of the common people and be one of their midst, speaking in their own dialect, or could associate with the gentry speaking in language as good as their own, and at times better. He was not only gifted with oratorical and musical power, but also had a fund of information in legendary lore and was as familiar with the tales of Rome and Greece as a university scholar. Some even went so far as to say that he was a scholar of Eton College when he was a lad, had been disappointed in a love affair and had drifted away from all who knew him in consequence. At times, after some legend told with great power, some of his friends among the gentry would remonstrate with him on his wandering life and offer to assist him into some greater sphere of usefulness, in better keeping with his education.
"Sphere of usefulness," Billy would respond. "What profession is more useful than that of the minstrel, or as people call me, the droll? I have brought happiness into cottage and hall and wiped the tears from sorrowing eyes with fun and laughter. I have made the youth's heart burn with high purpose to emulate the heroic deeds of old, and I have implanted thoughts of soberness in the giddy headed. What could be more useful? And could I have a happier occupation were I in the position of a servant? No, I prefer the old independent life of the droll; and as for my high education," Billy would always stop here, and with a funny twinkle in his eyes and dropping into the language of the country clout say, "I beant much of a scholard."
"Well, Billy, give us a song," said the squire, seeing that the droll teller had become sufficiently thawed out to finger the harp.
"Or a story," said a relative of the squire.
"Tell us of the oxen kneeling on Christmas night," piped in a young, shrill, boyish voice.
"Les have Duffy and The Devil," said one of the "curl" singers.