“How should it happen,” said he, “that I should speak any? I have never been far from here; my wife who has lived at service at Liverpool can speak some.”
“Can you read poetry?” said I.
“I can read the psalms and hymns that they sing at our chapel,” he replied.
“Then you are not of the Church?” said I.
“I am not,” said the miller; “I am a Methodist.”
“Can you read the poetry of Gronwy Owen?” said I.
“I cannot,” said the miller, “that is with any comfort; his poetry is in the ancient Welsh measures, which make poetry so difficult that few can understand it.”
“I can understand poetry in those measures,” said I.
“And how much time did you spend,” said the miller, “before you could understand the poetry of the measures?”
“Three years,” said I.