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Hearpwine laughed aloud and slung his harp back upon his shoulder. Pushing his sleeves up to the elbows he strode toward the pile of dirty pots and grabbing one in each hand brandished them above his head crying, “You are quite right, Mistress Cook, I should work for my food! Why, when I was a lad my mother would insist that I take the occasional turn in the kitchen – she felt that it would do me good to feel lather between my fingers. I don’t know if she was right about the good it did me or not, but many’s the time I was washing pots I would realise that there would be a good deal less sorrow and bloodshed in the world if everyone had to take the effort to clean their own mess!” And with that, he plunged the pots into the basin, sending a wave of sudsy water onto the floor. Cook rushed forward clucking her tongue and making to mop the water, but the Bard shooed her back with a wave of his hand. “Nay, mistress Cook! I will mop that up myself when I am done!”
He washed the pots as though he meant to scrub the black from their iron, and soon he was so deeply absorbed in his task that his aimless humming began to emerge as a full blown song that he was but dimly aware of singing.
Every person in the nation
Or of great or humble station
Holds in highest estimation
Piping Tim of Glanhir
Loudly he can play or low
He can move you fast or slow
Touch your hearts or stir your toe
Piping Tim of Glanhir
When the wedding bells are ringing
His the breath to lead the singing
Then in jigs the folks go swinging
What a splendid piper
He will blow from eve to mourn
Counting sleep a thing of scorn
Old is he but not outworn
Know you such a piper?
When he walks the highways pealing
`Round his head the birds come wheeling
Tim has carols worth the stealing
Piping Tim of Glanhir
Thrush and Linnet, finch and lark
To each other twitter “Hark"
Soon they sing from light to dark
Pipings learnt in Glanhir
With the final line he made such a vigorous dash at a frying pan that he sent another huge wave of water over the lip of the basin that soaked his feet. But he merely laughed at this and hung up the pan before he grabbed a towel and began mopping the floor with it. So lost was he in his work and music, however, the Bard of Rohan failed to notice that he was using one of Cook’s best hand towels to slop up the mucky water that he had spilled upon the floor.
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