“I never did,” said the woman.
“But I have,” said the man; “and of Owain Glendower too.”
“Do people talk much of Owen Glendower in these parts?” said I.
“Plenty,” said the man, “and no wonder, for when he was alive he was much about here—some way farther on there is a mount, on the bank of the Dee, called the mount of Owen Glendower, where it is said he used to stand and look out after his enemies.”
“Is it easy to find?” said I.
“Very easy,” said the man, “it stands right upon the Dee and is covered with trees; there is no mistaking it.”
I bade the man and his wife farewell, and proceeded on my way. After walking about a mile, I perceived a kind of elevation which answered to the description of Glendower’s mount, which the man by the bridge had given me. It stood on the right hand, at some distance from the road, across a field. As I was standing looking at it a man came up from the direction in which I myself had come. He was a middle-aged man, plainly but decently dressed, and had something of the appearance of a farmer.
“What hill may that be?” said I in English, pointing to the elevation.
“Dim Saesneg, sir,” said the man, looking rather sheepish, “Dim gair o Saesneg.”
Rather surprised that a person of his appearance should not have a word of English, I repeated my question in Welsh.