The “green” one had to confess with bitterness of heart, that the jockey had certainly kept his word, as he showed him such a trick as he never before saw, or heard of. But when he received a note informing him that the horse-dealer was his old “friend” Twm, his wrath was boundless.
The fame of Twm’s cunning and adroitness spread through the whole country round, and his wide-spread reputation brought him many country people to consult him respecting their difficulties.
One morning, while sitting in his favourite corner at the Cat and Fiddle, a person called, who described himself as a small farmer in the neighbourhood, his name Morgan Thomas; and having heard so much of his cleverness, he came to ask his advice on an affair of great weight. He had been annoyed, he said, by the continual trespassing of a certain squire’s pigeons on his ground, which had made such a havoc amid his wheat yearly, that the loss was grievous to him; he had computed his damages, and applied for the amount, for the last four years; reckoning that the forty pigeons would devour at least a bushel of wheat each annually. The squire only laughed at his claims and complaints, telling him he might pound them and be d—d, if he liked when he would pay the alleged damages and not till then.
“Now, to pound them, I should like vastly,” quoth Morgan Thomas, “but without the squire’s polite invitation to be d—ned, at the same time. But,” added the poor farmer, “pounding pigeons, I look upon as impossible; yet as you have done feats no less wonderful, if you will pound those mischievous pigeons for me, I will engage to give you half the amount of my claims.” “Agreed?” cried Twm, and grasped his hand, in token that he undertook the task.
He sent a quantity of hot grains from the brewing, to the farmer, next morning, which he afterwards scattered about the farm-yard. The pigeons came, as usual; and eagerly devouring the grain, each and all soon appeared as top-heavy as the veriest tress-pot in Carmarthenshire; and, like the said fraternity incapable of returning home, they fell in stupor on the ground. Our hero, assisted by the farmer, picked them up, tied their legs, and put the whole party in the pound. The squire, who was no other than Prothero, the laughing magistrate, ever pleased with a jest, especially when cracked by our hero, immediately paid the farmer’s demand; and Twm generously refused the proffered remuneration for his very effective assistance.