[Arry]

The band packs it in . . .

The last strains of music drifted over the Inn’s front yard, seeming to fade beneath the trees as the their leafy branches captured the notes. The band was tired. It had been a long, though satisfying, day of playing for the party. Gil let the air out of his concertina and locked his Lady, as he called her, up. The others in their little group put their instruments away also. A last mug of ale, and they would be heading home. Gil, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin to their snug burrows. Seamus and Owen, Caity and Rasputina, to the Inn for the night at least. Falco was there at the table, too, as the last round of drink was shared. He, too, Gil supposed would be staying at the Inn. Little Marigold, he’d seen carried in earlier by Buttercup, and put to bed.

It had been a good party, he thought. Derufin and Zimzi had paid them a number of compliments, and there had been many requests of the band to play Shire favorites. Best of all, he thought, had been the fact that the band had been so large. They’d been able to spell each other and enjoy a dance or two with their own little darlings. Gil smiled, recalling how he’d managed to flirt with a number of lasses from the outskirts of Bywater that he didn’t get to see often.

The last drop of ale slid down his throat, as sweet and as welcome as the first. The lads and he put their instruments in the small cart they’d driven to the Inn and saying a last good-bye to the others drove off down the path to the main road.

Gil sang as the pony plodded along, and was soon joined by his companions. It was an old song that each of their mothers had sung to them at night when they were just wee ones.

Under yonder oaken tree,
Whose branches oft me shaded;
Elves, the Fair Folk, dance with glee,
When day's last beam hath faded:
Then while the stars shine brightly,
So airy, gay and sprightly,
'Till rooster tells that dawn is near,
They trip it, trip it lightly.

Yet no trace of them is seen,
When morning rays are glancing,
Not one footprint on the green
Shows where the Elves were dancing:
Oh! Where are they abiding?
In what lone valley hiding?
Come next with me and we will see
The Fair Folk homewards gliding . . .

On the way, they passed Andwise and Ferdy and Gammer Banks, also heading home. There were hoots and good natured calls between the two carts as the lads teased each other about their dance partners. ‘See you all tomorrow,’ Andwise called out to the other cart, chuckling at the give and take. ‘I promised Miz Bunce we would help with the cleaning up of the yard and the putting away of the tables and benches.’

Groans all around greeted this announcement . . .

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-- song lyrics changed a wee bit from the traditional Welsh air: Under Yonder Oaken Tree (Mae Croesawiad Gwraig Y Ty)