I did not get beyond St. Columb that day, and, on arriving there, tried to find out something about the Killigrews. I had not gone far enough north, however. The main branch of the family, as all the country knows, had lived at St. Erme, about five miles north of Truro, also at Falmouth, but it had died out. Colman Killigrew was the descendant of one Benet Killigrew, who, although he did not, like some of his relations, become a courtier, was sufficiently fortunate to marry a Mistress Scobell Rosecarrick, of Endellion, in which Endellion Castle was situated. Through her this branch of the Killigrews became possessed of a pleasant estate, and also became allied to an ancient race. This I had learnt by reading Carew's survey of Cornwall after I had returned from Peter Trevisa. Of their present condition, however, I knew nothing, neither could I discover anything about them at St. Columb. Arriving at Wadebridge the next day, my attention was attracted by an inn called "The Molesworth Arms." As the name of the maid I had promised to take from Endellion to Treviscoe was Molesworth, and as it was moreover the chief inn in the town, I decided to rest there and partake of some refreshment. Although it was scarcely noon, I found the common room of the inn filled with a number of people. Mostly the occupants were farmers, although I fancied one or two of them belonged to the gentlefolk of the neighbourhood. I did not pay particular attention to them, however, because my interest became centred in a hale-looking old man, who was evidently a travelling story-teller and minstrel. He had finished his singing, and was now telling a story before taking his departure. There is no need that I should repeat the tale here; at the same time I mention the incident because I was impressed by the wondrous way he had of making us all look at him. One could have heard a pin drop when he was speaking. I was fascinated by him too, partly, I expect, because I did not understand him. As all the county knows, a tale-teller, or a wandering singer, who is usually called "a droll," is no unusual thing. Many of them had visited Trevanion, and I had always given them food and a bed. Mostly they came when the house was full of visitors, and regaled the company with song and story. But they were mostly of the lower orders of life, and spoke the Cornish dialect. Indeed their stories usually had but little charm apart from the dialect, although occasionally tales were told which were interesting because of their subject-matter. These were generally of a supernatural order, and described the dead arising or spirits coming back to the world to bring some message to their friends. I had never seen this man at Trevanion, however, neither did he belong to the class who had visited the house. It is true he spoke the Cornish dialect, but at times he let words drop which showed he knew something of learning. He had an air of authority with him, too, which suggested that he lived on terms