“What is the name of this house?” said I, pointing to the building.
“The name of it,” said the old man, “is Tŷ Mawr.”
“Do you live in it?” said I.
“Yes, I live in it.”
“What waterfall is that?” said I, pointing to the torrent tumbling down the crag at the farther end of the gloomy vale.
“The fountain of the Royal Dyfi.”
“Why do you call the Dyfy royal?” said I.
“Because it is the king of the rivers in these parts.”
“Does the fountain come out of a rock?”
“It does not; it comes out of a lake, a llyn.”