![]() ![]() I feel too much disappointed to make any remarks. “Wonder if he is going to sing in Welsh?” murmurs Robert. More like a bricklayer than a bard,-and his garments are corduroy! A swarthy, sturdy, unkempt vagabond, with black bold eyes under scowling black brows. But what a harper! Not like the hoary minstrels of the picture-books. “There is a Harper!-he is coming to the house!”Īnd down the hill we run to hear the harper…. This revelation leaves me dumb with astonishment and awe…. “They eat nothing but the points of needles, you know,” says Robert. I tell Robert the old Welsh story of the man who went to sleep, unawares, inside of a fairy-ring, and so disappeared for seven years, and would never eat or speak after his friends had delivered him from the enchantment. We do not find any fairy-rings but we find a great many pine-cones in the high grass…. It is a glowing glorious August day and the warm air is filled with sharp sweet scents of resin. Robert is eight years old, comely, and very wise -I am a little more than seven,-and I reverence Robert. On the wooded hill behind the house Robert and I are looking for fairy-rings. ![]()
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