ifts it above his head and peeks into it. 'Ha, ha,'
says he; 'this won't do; I see one hole here. What mean you by wanting
to sell article like this to stranger?' Says the man, 'There be no hole
in it.' 'But there is,' says Tom, holding it up and peeking into it
again; 'I see the hole quite plain. Take it and look into it yourself.'
So the man takes the pot, and having held it up and peeked in, 'as I hope
to be saved,' says he, 'I can see no hole.' Says Tom, 'Good man, if you
put your head in, you will find that there is a hole.' So the man tries
to put in his head, but having some difficulty, Tom lends him a helping
hand by jamming the pot quite down over the man's face, then whisking up
the other pots Tom leaves the shop, saying as he goes, 'Friend, I suppose
you now see there is a hole in the pot, otherwise how could you have got
your head inside?"'

"Very good," said I; "can you tell us something more about Twm Shone
Catti?"

"Oh yes; can tell you plenty about him. The farmer at Newton, just one
mile beyond the bridge at Brecon, had one very fine bull, but with a very
short tail. Says Tom to himself: 'By God's nails and blood, I will steal
the farmer's bull, and then sell it to him for other bull in open market
place.' Then Tom makes one fine tail, just for all the world such a tail
as the bull ought to have had, then goes by night to the farmer's stall
at Newton, steals away the bull, and then sticks to the bull's short
stump the fine bull's tail which he himself had made. The next market
day he takes the bull to the market-place at Brecon, and calls out; 'Very
fine bull this, who will buy my fine bull?' Quoth the farmer who stood
nigh at hand, 'That very much like my bull, which thief stole t'other
night; I think I can swear to him.' Says Tom, 'What do you mean? This
bull is not your bull, but mine.' Says the farmer, 'I could swear that
this is my bull but for the tail. The tail of my bull was short, but the
tail of this is long. I would fain know whether the tail of this be real
tail or not.' 'You would?' says Tom; 'well, so you shall.' Thereupon he
whips out big knife and cuts off the bull's tail, some little way above
where the false tail was joined on. 'Ha, ha,' said Tom, as the bull's
stump of tail bled, and the bit of tail bled too to which the false tail
was stuck, and the bull kicked and bellowed. 'What say you now? Is it a
true tail or no?' 'By my faith!' says the farmer, 'I see tha