“I had tea for my breakfast at Beth Gelert,” said I, “and want no more till to-morrow morning. What’s the name of that strange-looking crag across the valley?”
“We call it Craig yr hyll ddrem, sir; which means—I don’t know what it means in English.”
“Does it mean the crag of the frightful look?”
“It does, sir,” said the woman; “ah, I see you understand Welsh. Sometimes it’s called Allt Traeth.”
“The high place of the sandy channel,” said I; “did the sea ever come up here?”
“I can’t say, sir; perhaps it did; who knows?”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, “if there was once an arm of the sea between that crag and this hill. Thank you! Farewell.”
“Then you won’t walk in, sir?
“Not to drink tea,” said I, “tea is a good thing at a proper time, but were I to drink it now, it would make me ill.”
“Pray, sir, walk in,” said the woman, “and perhaps I can accommodate you.”