Manawyddan told him, and the scholar protested, saying that it was unseemly for a prince to act a hangman’s part. “Come, I will give you a pound to ransom the thief,” he added, but Manawyddan refused. So the scholar passed on and presently a priest approached. He too enquired as to the Prince’s task and also tried to dissuade him from it, offering five pounds as a ransom. But the Prince was adamant. Then as he was about to release the mouse from his glove and string it up, a bishop came by. Like the other two strangers he began to argue with Manawyddan and offered ten, then twenty pounds to have the mouse set free. But the Prince’s suspicions were now aroused. “No,” said he, “the thief shall hang.” Then the bishop fell into a great rage and stamped his foot in anger, and as he did so his mitre fell off disclosing the fact that he was no bishop but a noted sorcerer of the neighbourhood. “Name your price,” he said at last, “the mouse shall not hang, for she is my wife.” So Manawyddan drove a bargain. He demanded the return of his stepson; that all spells should be removed from his land and never replaced; and that no vengeance should be wreaked upon him. To this the enchanter agreed, and the Prince untied his glove and out ran, not a mouse but a beautiful lady who went away with her rescuer. That night the stepson and all the retainers returned, the cornfields grew rich and ripe, and ever since Narberth and the lands round about have been amazingly fertile. You may prove the truth of this latter to-day if you visit this pleasant and prosperous land, with its mild climate and abundant crops. There is a station at Narberth, but Tenby, that picturesque and attractive little town on the coast of Carmarthen Bay, is perhaps your best centre for the district. The coast to the westward is wild and rocky, while inland is a glorious country, scattered more thickly than any part of our islands with the remains of noble medieval castles. Tenby itself is one of the most delightful seaside towns in the country. It has extensive sands between its rocks and the sea’s edge. The place has ample accommodation for visitors of all kinds, and the praises of Tenby’s reputation for sunshine at all seasons of the year have been sung by writers for many years past. [Illustration: _Narberth Castle._] [Illustration: St. Melangell greeting a few men.] ST. MELANGELL AND HER “LAMBS.” Up in the Montgomeryshire mountains, three or four miles from the shores of Lake Vyrnwy, is the little village of Melangell, named after a saint who for fifteen years, so the story goes, lived a lonely life in the midst of the wild hills, sleeping on the bare rock, rather than marry the man her father had designed for her.