a hand over his month in embarrassment. "You see, Tam," Bran said. "There's been little enough laughter in this village since winter came. Now even the gleeman's cloak brings a laugh. That alone is worth the expense of bringing him down from Baerlon." "Say what you will," Cenn spoke up suddenly. "still say it's a foolish waste of money. And those fireworks you all insisted on sending off for." "So there are fireworks," Mat said, but Cenn went right on. "They should have been here a month ago with the first peddler of the year, but there hasn't been a peddler, has there? If he doesn't come by tomorrow, what are we going to do with them? Hold another Festival just to set them off? That's if he even brings them, of course." "Cenn" -- Tam sighed -- "you've as much trust as a Taren Ferry man." "Where is he, then? Tell me that, al'Thor." "Why didn't you tell us?" Mat demanded in an aggrieved voice. "The whole village would have had as much fun with the waiting as with the gleeman. Or almost, anyway. You can see how everybody's been over just a rumor of fireworks." "I can see," Bran replied with a sidelong look at the Thatcher. "And if I knew for sure how that rumor started...if I thought, for instance, that somebody had been complaining about how much things cost where people could hear him when the things are supposed to be secret...." Cenn cleared his throat.