“Ah,” the latter exclaimed, pointing to the wand the man of Cambria used as a cane, “where did you get it?”
“Where did I get it?” the Welshman repeated, amazed that any one should ask such a question. “Off of a hazel bush, to be sure.”
But the stranger stared in big-eyed wonder and shook his head.
“There is only one hazel bush of that kind in all the world,” he declared, “and under it a vast treasure is hidden. Lead me to the spot, and I will share it with you.”
The Welshman smiled pleasantly, for he began to have visions of a luxurious, idle life. He hated to work, and was always grumbling because he had to hammer away at shoe lasts to make his living.
To be sure he would lead the Englishman to the spot, and once he had some gold in his possession, he’d do nothing but feast and ride in a coach and dance at the fair. So he said quite wearily, lest the stranger think he seemed too eager and change his mind, “It is a long way from here, in the Vale of Neath in my native Wales, and by my faith I have no desire to walk that distance.”
But the Englishman coaxed, which was just what the Welshman wanted him to do. So they turned away from London Bridge and journeyed northward across mountains and valleys, until they came to Cambria.
After several days they came to Craig-i-Ddinas, in the lovely Vale of Neath. The Welshman led the way to the hazel bush, beside which he had often played when a boy, and the Englishman said, “In due time we will begin work.”
When darkness was heavy enough to cover all trace of what they did, they dug up the bush, and the Englishman, who happened to be a wizard, pointed to a broad stone under the roots and said, “Below is the treasure. Do as I bid and you shall be rich.”
And the Welshman began to feel very important, thinking how people would honor him when he lived in a great house and wore a velvet coat.
Then the cock crowed for dawn, and they knew they must hurry away before any of the peasants saw them. The Welshman did not wish his village cousins to know he was there, for they would question why he had come; so they found a vacant tinker’s hut in which to rest until darkness made it safe for them to go to work again.
But the cobbler was too excited to sleep. The sight of the broad, flat stone at the root of the hazel bush brought back to his mind a story he had often heard, one that the village grandmothers used to tell when he was a boy. Again and again he thought of it, the story of the treasure of King Arthur.