“And who lived there?” said I.
“I don’t know, sir,” said the man; “but I suppose they were grand people, or they would not have lived in a castle.”
After ascending the hill and passing over its top, we went down its western side and soon came to a black, frightful bog between two hills. Beyond the bog and at some distance to the west of the two hills rose a brown mountain, not abruptly, but gradually, and looking more like what the Welsh call a rhiw, or slope, than a mynydd, or mountain.
“That, sir,” said my guide, “is the grand Plynlimmon.”
“It does not look much of a hill,” said I.
“We are on very high ground, sir, or it would look much higher. I question, upon the whole, whether there is a higher hill in the world. God bless Pumlummon Mawr!” said he, looking with reverence towards the hill. “I am sure I have a right to say so, for many is the good crown I have got by showing gentlefolks like yourself to the top of him.”
“You talk of Plynlimmon Mawr, or the great Plynlymmon,” said I; “where are the small ones?”
“Yonder they are,” said the guide, pointing to two hills towards the north; “one is Plynlimmon Canol, and the other Plynlimmon Bach—the middle and the small Plynlimmon.”
“Pumlummon,” said I, “means five summits. You have pointed out only three; now, where are the other two?”
“Those two hills which we have just passed make up the five. However, I will tell your worship that there is a sixth summit. Don’t you see that small hill connected with the big Pumlummon, on the right?”