“Where are you going?” said the man in English.
“To Llan Rhyadr,” said I, “from which I came this morning.”
“Which way did you come?” said the man.
“By Llan Gedwin,” I replied, “and over the hill. Is there another way?”
“There is,” said the man; “by Llan Silin.”
“Llan Silin!” said I; “is not that the place where Huw Morris is buried?”
“It is,” said the man.
“I will return by Llan Silin,” said I, “and in passing through pay a visit to the tomb of the great poet. Is Llan Silin far off?”
“About half-a-mile,” said the man. “Go over the bridge, turn to the right, and you will be there presently.”
I shook the honest couple by the hand, and bade them farewell. The man put on his hat, and went with me a few yards from the door, and then proceeded towards the factory. I passed over the bridge, under which was a streamlet, which a little below the bridge received the brook which once turned Owen Glendower’s corn-mill. I soon reached Llan Silin, a village or townlet, having some high hills at a short distance to the westward, which form part of the Berwyn.