He looks at Mat, looks at the bag, looks at the children with a half-smile and a sheepish shrug. He is a little more into the spirit of the thing now.

"I thought we were here to entertain them," he says, in a way that is part of the entertainment, which gets a laugh out of some of the boys and girls.

But he gets the drum out and looks to Mat for further guidance. He's picked up on a few of the same songs, but what you sing in a tavern is not what you sing for sick children. And at the Wall, not much of what was said or sung was soft enough for ears this tender. He can't imagine singing "The Dornishman's Wife" to this lot.

"The one about the little dog?"