“It is called sometimes Tŷ Gronwy,” said the miller; “but more frequently Tafarn Goch.”
“The Red Tavern?” said I. “How is it that so many of your places are called Goch? there is Pentraeth Goch; there is Saint Pedair Goch, and here at Llanfair is Tafarn Goch.”
The miller laughed.
“It will take a wiser man than I,” said he, “to answer that question.”
The repast over I rose up, gave my host thanks, and said “I will now leave you, and hunt up things connected with Gronwy.”
“And where will you find a lletty for night, gentleman?” said the miller’s wife. “This is a poor place, but if you will make use of our home you are welcome.”
“I need not trouble you,” said I, “I return this night to Pentraeth Goch where I shall sleep.”
“Well,” said the miller, “whilst you are at Llanfair I will accompany you about. Where shall we go to first?”
“Where is the church?” said I. “I should like to see the church where Gronwy worshipped God as a boy.”
“The church is at some distance,” said the man; “it is past my mill, and as I want to go to the mill for a moment, it will be perhaps well to go and see the church, before we go to the house of Gronwy.”