"Good evening," said I to him in Welsh.
"Good evening, gentleman," said he in the same language.
"Have you much English?" said I.
"Very little; I can only speak a few words."
"Are you the farmer?"
"Yes! I farm the greater part of the Strath."
"I suppose the land is very good here?"
"Why do you suppose so?"
"Because the monks built their house here in the old time, and the
monks never built their houses except on good land."
"Well, I must say the land is good; indeed I do not think there is
any so good in Shire Aberteifi."
"I suppose you are surprised to see me here; I came to see the old
Monachlog."
"Yes, gentleman; I saw you looking about it."
"Am I welcome to see it?"
"Croesaw! gwr boneddig, croesaw! many, many welcomes to you,
gentleman!"
"Do many people come to see the monastery?"
FARMER. - Yes! many gentlefolks come to see it in the summer time.
MYSELF. - It is a poor place now.
FARMER. - Very poor, I wonder any gentlefolks come to look at it.
MYSELF. - It was a wonderful place once; you merely see the ruins
of it now. It was pulled down at the Reformation.
FARMER. - Why was it pulled down then?
MYSELF. - Because it was a house of idolatry to which people used
to resort by hundreds to worship images. Had you lived at that
time you would have seen people down on their knees before stocks
and stones, worshipping them, kissing them, and repeating
pennillion to them.
FARMER. - What fools! How thankful I am that I live in wiser days.
If such things were going on in the old Monachlog it was high time
to pull it down.
MYSELF. - What kind of a rent do you pay for your land?
FARMER. - Oh, rather a stiffish one.
MYSELF. - Two pounds an acre?
FARMER. - Two pound an acre! I wish I paid no more!
MYSELF. - Well, I think that would be quite enough. In the time of
the old monastery you might have had the land at two shillings an
acre.
FARMER. - Might I? Then those couldn't have been such bad times,
after all.
MYSELF. - I beg your pardon! They were horrible times - times in
which there were monks and friars and graven images, which people
kissed and worshipped and sang pennillion to. Better pay three
pounds an acre and live on crusts and water in the present
enlightened days than pay two shillings an acre and sit down to
beef and ale three times a day in the old superstitious times.
FARMER. - Well, I scarcely know what to say to that.
MYSELF. - What do you call that high hill on the other side of the
river?
FARMER. - I call that hill Bunk Pen Bannedd.
MYSELF. - Is the source of the Teivi far from here?
FARMER. - The head of the Teivi is about two miles from here high
up in the hills.
MYSELF. - What kind of place is the head of the Teivi?
FARMER. - The head of the Teivi is a small lake about fifty yards
long and twenty across.
MYSELF. - Where does the Teivi run to?
FARMER. - The Teivi runs to the sea, which it enters at a place
which the Cumri call Aber Teivi and the Saxons Cardigan.
MYSELF. - Don't you call Cardiganshire Shire Aber Teivi?
FARMER. - We do.
MYSELF. - Are there many gleisiaid in the Teivi?
FARMER. - Plenty, and salmons too - that is, farther down. The
best place for salmon and gleisiaid is a place, a great way down
the stream, called Dinas Emlyn.
MYSELF. - Do you know an animal called Llostlydan?
FARMER. - No, I do not know that beast.
MYSELF. - There used to be many in the Teivi.
FARMER. - What kind of beast is the Llostlydan?
MYSELF. - A beast with a broad tail, on which account the old Cumri
did call him Llostlydan. Clever beast he was; made himself house
of wood in middle of the river, with two doors, so that when hunter
came upon him he might have good chance of escape. Hunter often
after him, because he had skin good to make hat.
FARMER. - Ha, I wish I could catch that beast now in Teivi.
MYSELF. - Why so?
Farmer. - Because I want hat. Would make myself hat of his skin.
MYSELF. - Oh, you could not make yourself a hat even if you had the
skin.
FARMER. - Why not? Shot coney in Bunk Pen Banedd; made myself cap
of his skin. So why not make hat of skin of broadtail, should I
catch him in Teivi?
MYSELF. - How far is it to Tregaron?
FARMER. -'Tis ten miles from here, and eight from the Rhyd
Fendigaid.
MYSELF. - Must I go back to Rhyd Fendigaid to get to Tregaron?
FARMER. - You must.
MYSELF. - Then I must be going, for the night is coming down.
Farewell!
FARMER. - Farvel, Saxon gentleman!
CHAPTER XCII
Nocturnal Journey - Maes y Lynn - The Figure - Earl of Leicester -
Twm Shone Catti - The Farmer and Bull - Tom and the Farmer - The
Cave - The Threat - Tom a Justice - The Big Wigs - Tregaron.
IT was dusk by the time I had regained the high-road by the village
of the Rhyd Fendigaid.
As I was yet eight miles from Tregaron, the place where I intended
to pass the night, I put on my best pace. In a little time I
reached a bridge over a stream which seemed to carry a considerable
tribute to the Teivi.
"What is the name of this bridge?" said I to a man riding in a
cart, whom I met almost immediately after I had crossed the bridge.
"Pont Vleer," methought he said, but as his voice was husky and
indistinct, very much like that of a person somewhat the worse for
liquor, I am by no means positive.
It was now very dusk, and by the time I had advanced about a mile
farther dark night settled down, which compelled me to abate my
pace a little, more especially as the road was by no means first-
rate.
