I then asked if we were near Pont Fadog; and received for answer
that Pont Fadog was a good way down the valley, to the north-east,
and that we could not see it owing to a hill which intervened.
Jones went his way and I proceeded to the gwestfa, the door of
which stood invitingly open. I entered a large kitchen, at one end
of which a good fire was burning in a grate, in front of which was
a long table, and a high settle on either side. Everything looked
very comfortable. There was nobody in the kitchen: on my calling,
however, a girl came, whom I bade in Welsh to bring me a pint of
the best ale. The girl stared, but went away apparently to fetch
it - presently came the landlady, a good-looking middle-aged woman.
I saluted her in Welsh and then asked her if she could speak
English. She replied "Tipyn bach," which interpreted, is, a little
bit. I soon, however, found that she could speak it very passably,
for two men coming in from the rear of the house she conversed with
them in English. These two individuals seated themselves on chairs
near the door, and called for beer. The girl brought in the ale,
and I sat down by the fire, poured myself out a glass, and made
myself comfortable. Presently a gig drove up to the door, and in
came a couple of dogs, one a tall black grey-hound, the other a
large female setter, the coat of the latter dripping with rain, and
shortly after two men from the gig entered; one who appeared to be
the principal was a stout bluff-looking person between fifty and
sixty, dressed in a grey stuff coat and with a slouched hat on his
head.
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