“Have you any English?”
“Nagos!” said she, bursting into a loud laugh. “What should we do with English here?” After we had drunk the buttermilk I offered the girl some money, but she drew back her hand angrily, and said: “We don’t take money from tired strangers for two drops of buttermilk; there’s plenty within, and there are a thousand ewes on the hill. Farvel!”
“Dear me!” thought I to myself as I walked away; “that I should once in my days have found shepherd life something as poets have represented it!”
I saw a mighty mountain at a considerable distance on the right, the same I believe which I had noted some hours before. I inquired of my guide whether it was Plynlimmon.
“Oh no!” said he, “that is Gaverse; Pumlimmon is to the left.”
“Plynlimmon is a famed hill,” said I; “I suppose it is very high.”
“Yes!” said he, “it is high; but it is not famed because it is high, but because the three grand rivers of the world issue from its breast, the Hafren, the Rheidol, and the Gwy.”
Night was now coming rapidly on, attended with a drizzling rain. I inquired if we were far from Pont Erwyd. “About a mile,” said my guide; “we shall soon be there.” We quickened our pace. After a little time he asked me if I was going farther than Pont Erwyd.
“I am bound for the bridge of the evil man,” said I; “but I daresay I shall stop at Pont Erwyd to-night.”
“You will do right,” said he; “it is only three miles from Pont Erwyd to the bridge of the evil man, but I think we shall have a stormy night.”