ife! wife! If the fool has a wife, he will never
do for us!"'

CHAPTER EIGHTY

THE BORDER--THANK YOU BOTH--PIPE AND FIDDLE

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.

'Know Welsh!' said Winifred, stopping her cart.

'How and when did you learn it?' said Peter.

'From books, in my boyhood.'

'Read Welsh!' said Peter; 'is it possible?'

'Read Welsh!' said Winifred; 'is it possible?'

'Well, I hope you will come with us,' said Peter.

'Come with us, young man,' said Winifred; 'let me, on the other side of
the brook, welcome you into Wales.'

'Thank you both,' said I, 'but I will not come.'

'Wherefore?' exclaimed both simultaneously.

'Because it is neither fit nor proper that I cross into Wales at this
time, and in this manner. When I go into Wales, I should wish to go in a
new suit of superfine black, with hat and beaver, mounted on a powerful
steed, black and glossy, like that which bore Greduv to the fight of
Catraeth. I should wish, moreover, to see the Welshmen assembled on the
border ready to welcome me with pipe and fiddle, and much whooping and
shouting, and to attend me to Wrexham, or even as far as Machynllaith,
where I should wish to be invited to a dinner at which all the bards
should be present, and to be seated at the right hand of the president,
who, when the cloth was removed, should arise, and, amidst cries of
silence, exclaim--"Brethren and Welshmen, allow me to propose the health
of my most respectable friend the translator of the odes of the great Ab
Gwilym, the pride and glory of Wales."'

'How!' said Peter, 'hast thou translated the works of the mighty Dafydd?'

'With notes critical, historical, and explanatory.'

'Come with us, friend,' said Peter. 'I cannot promise such a dinner as
thou wishest, but neither pipe nor fid