“Its name is Llyn Cwellyn, sir,” said he, taking the pipe out of his mouth. “And a fine lake it is.”
“Plenty of fish in it?” I demanded.
“Plenty, sir; plenty of trout and pike and char.”
“Is it deep?” said I.
“Near the shore it is shallow, sir, but in the middle and near the other side it is deep, so deep that no one knows how deep it is.”
“What is the name,” said I, “of the great black mountain there on the other side?”
“It is called Mynydd Mawr, or the Great Mountain. Yonder rock, which bulks out from it, down the lake yonder, and which you passed as you came along, is called Castell Cidwm, which means Wolf’s rock or castle.”
“Did a wolf ever live there?” I demanded.
“Perhaps so,” said the man, “for I have heard say that there were wolves of old in Wales.”
“And what is the name of the beautiful hill yonder, before us across the water?”