![]() He felt an itching in his feet and could not help keeping time to the merry music, but he was afraid to join in the dance. Sian Lan was the best dancer within ten miles of Llangollen, and Tudur had often had a turn with her at the merry nights in Glyn Ceiriog, but Sian’s dancing was clumsy and heavy compared with what he now saw. ![]() Now, of all the dancing Tudur had ever seen, none came near the dancing of the fairies. Then at the sound of the sweet melody the fairies, if fairies they were, ranged themselves in groups and began to dance, and as the minstrel quickened his bow the dancers went round and round. Presently the little minstrel drew his bow across the strings of his instrument, and the music produced was so enchanting that Tudur stood transfixed to the spot. Tudur was not to be outdone in politeness, and he doffed his cap and bowed to each in return. So lightly did they tread that not a blade of grass nor any flower was crushed beneath their weight, and all made a curtsey or a bow to Tudur as they passed. Some were dressed in white and some in blue and some in pink, and some carried glow-worms in their hands as torches. And now Tudur beheld through the dusk hundreds of pretty little sprites converging from all parts of the mountain towards the spot where they stood. I,” added the little man, swelling his chest out, “I am a musician.” “Where is your harp?” asked Tudur, “a Welshman cannot dance without a harp.” “Harp?” repeated the wee being scornfully, “I can discourse better music for dancing upon my fiddle.” “Is it a fiddle,” rejoined Tudur, “that you call that stringed wooden spoon in your hand?” He had never seen such an instrument before. “Nos dawch, nos dawch,” said the little man (this means in English, “Good night to you, good night to you.”) “Ac i chwithau,” replied Tudur, which is, being interpreted, “The same to you.” Then continued the little man, “You are fond of dancing, Tudur: and if you but tarry awhile you shall behold some of the best dancers in Wales. He ran his fingers over his instrument, and the music made Tudur’s hair stand on end. His coat was made of birch leaves, and he wore upon his head a helmet consisting of a gorse flower, while his feet were encased in shoes made of beetles’ wings. He was the tiniest wee specimen of humanity imaginable. ![]() One summer night Tudur was preparing to return to the lowlands with his woolly charge, when he suddenly saw, perched on a stone near him, a little man in moss breeches with a fiddle under his arm. Once upon a time a young man, who was known as Tudur ap Einion Gloff, used to pasture his master’s sheep in this hollow. HALF-WAY up the ascent from Llangollen to Dinas Bran, or Bran’s Fortress (the wicked man who called it Crow Castle ought to have been hanged, drawn and quartered), lies a hollow known by the name of Nant yr Ellyllon, the Elves’ Dell.
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