“Yes, sure; I will go at once and fetch her.”
She then left the room, and presently returned with the cook, a short, thick girl, with blue, staring eyes.
“Here she is, sir,” said the landlady, “but she has no English.”
“All the better,” said I. “So you come from a place called Sychnant?” said I to the cook in Welsh.
“In truth, sir, I do,” said the cook.
“Did you ever hear of a gwr boneddig called Owen Glendower?”
“Often, sir, often; he lived in our place.”
“He lived in a place called Sycharth?” said I.
“Well, sir, and we of the place call it Sycharth as often as Sychnant; nay, oftener.”