“Are you the mistress of the house?” said I.
“No,” said she, “I am married to a collier;” then getting up she said, “I must go and see after my husband.”
“Won’t you take a glass of ale first?” said I, offering to fill a glass which stood on the table.
“No,” said she; “I am the worst in the world for a glass of ale;” and without saying anything more she departed.
“I wonder whether your husband is anything like you with respect to a glass of ale,” said I to myself; then finishing my ale I got up and left the house, which when I departed appeared to be entirely deserted.
It was now quite night, and it would have been pitchy-dark but for the glare of forges. There was an immense glare to the south-west, which I conceived proceeded from those of Cefn Mawr. It lighted up the south-western sky; then there were two other glares nearer to me, seemingly divided by a lump of something, perhaps a grove of trees.
Walking very fast I soon overtook a man. I knew him at once by his staggering gait.
“Ah, landlord!” said I; “whither bound?”
“To Rhiwabon,” said he, huskily, “for a pint.”
“Is the ale so good at Rhiwabon,” said I, “that you leave home for it?”