"I hope not, indeed, Oswald. It was a sore fight, and we are scarce likely to have a pitched battle with these Welsh carls. They fight not much in our fashion, as I have heard; but dash down from their hills, and carry fire and sword through a district, and are off again before a force can be gathered to strike a blow. Then there are marches to and fro among their hills, but it is like chasing a will-o'-the-wisp; and like enough, just when you think you have got them cooped up, and prepare to strike a heavy blow, they are a hundred miles away, plundering and ravaging on our side of the frontier. They are half-wild men, short in stature, and no match for us when it comes to hand-to-hand fighting; but broad in the shoulder, tireless, and active as our shaggy ponies, and well-nigh as untamable. 'Tis fighting in which there is little glory, and many hard knocks to be obtained; but it is a good school for war. It teaches a man to be ever watchful and on his guard, prepared to meet sudden attacks, patient under difficulties; and, what is harder, to be able to go without eating or drinking for a long time, for they say that you might as well expect to find corn and ale on the crest of the Grampians, as you would on the Welsh hills." "The prospect doesn't look very pleasant, Uncle," Oswald laughed. "However, their hills can scarcely be more barren than ours, nor can they be quicker on the stroke than the border raiders; and for such work, we of the northern marches have proved far more useful than the beefy men of the south." "No doubt, no doubt; and maybe that, for that reason, Sir Edmund prayed Hotspur to send a detachment to his aid; for he would know that we are accustomed to a country as rough, and to a foe as active as he has now to meet. "I wonder what has stirred up the Welsh now, knowing as they do that, although they may gain successes at first, it always ends in the harrying of their lands, and the burning of their castles and villages. They have been quiet for some years. But they are always like a swarm of bees. They will work, quietly enough, till they take offence at something; then they will pour out in a fury, attacking all they come across, and caring nothing about death, so that they can but prick an enemy with their stings. Maybe it is the report that the king is engaging in another Scotch war, and they think that it is a good time to gather spoil from their neighbours. They used to be mightily given to warring among themselves, but of late I have heard but little of this.