I repeated my question in Welsh.
“To the sea,” he said, “which is not far off; indeed it is so near, that when there are high tides the salt water comes up to this bridge.”
“You seem feeble?” said I.
“I am so,” said he, “for I am old.”
“How old are you?” said I.
“Sixteen after sixty,” said the old man with a sigh; “and I have nearly lost my sight and my hearing.”
“Are you poor?” said I.
“Very,” said the old man.
I gave him a trifle which he accepted with thanks.
“Why is this sand called the red sand?” said I.