“Yes,” replied Rosser, “often at Llandovery; once at Cardigan; and now I see him before me at Brecon.”
“Well then,” continued Twm, “I order thee to give us a dance in the middle of the crockery.”
“With all my heart, if you order it, for I should dread to disobey Twm Shon Catty more than twenty times my loss.” On which he jumped, capered and danced, in the midst of his brittle commodities, kicking and treading the dishes, pans, basins, and other articles, to powder beneath his feet.
“By the Lord, thou art a strange fellow!” said Powell, as he paid him the amount of his forfeit; “and I foresee that there’s much more luck for thee than thou dreamest of: and I confidently anticipate what will come in thy favour, my Cardiganian hero.”
Twm was much surprised to hear Powell speak thus, as his manner implied much more than his words; but his astonishment was considerably augmented when, in a subsequent conversation, our hero discovered that Powell knew all his affairs and connections with the lady of Ystrad Feen.
“She once,” said he, “played me a jade’s trick; but no matter, we are now friends, and she has even assisted me in my suit with her amiable friend, Miss Meredith. In heart and soul, she is attached to you, Jones; but she is a weak yielding woman beneath the terrors of her father’s frown, and in some evil hour might again sacrifice herself, if you are too long out of her sight. She is proud of you and of your wild achievements, and even finds excuses for your most blameable courses. Now, my advice is, that you will endeavour to distinguish yourself during the races, and start for the gold plate: the grey horse, I suspect, has blood in him, and will beat the best that is to run.”
“But why,” asked Twm, “did she not keep her promise to meet me at Llandovery fair?”
Powell replied that she was prevented by her father’s sudden illness; and great is her sorrow for the disappointment she must have caused.
On the following day the town speedily put on its gala dresses, and flags waved from every corner. Bells were rung and guns fired in honour of the festival, which consisted of a rather extensive programme, namely the Eisteddvod, Races, and Ball. Between eleven and twelve o’clock, our hero, with other musical and literary competitors, entered the Town-Hall, in bardic trim, with the harp of his friend Ianto Gwyn, slung by a blue ribbon, and attached to his shoulder.
The audience included all the intellect, taste, and fashion of the district, and the competitors were greeted on their appearance, with hearty and long-continued applause.