“What kind of place is it?”
“In truth, sir, I do not know, for I was never there. My cook, however, in the kitchen, knows all about it, for she comes from there.”
“Can I see her?”
“Yes, sure; I will go at once and fetch her.”
She then left the room and presently returned with the cook, a short, thick girl with blue staring eyes.
“Here she is, sir,” said the landlady, “but she has no English.”
“All the better,” said I. “So you come from a place called Sychnant?” said I to the cook in Welsh.
“In truth, sir, I do;” said the cook.
“Did you ever hear of a gwr boneddig called Owen Glendower?”
“Often, sir, often; he lived in our place.”