“How old are you?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“You are not very old,” said I.
“Ain’t I? I only want one year of fulfilling my proper time on earth.”
“You take things very easily,” said I.
“Not so very easily, sir; I have often my quakings and fears, but then I read my Bible, say my prayers, and find hope and comfort.”
“I really am very glad to have seen you,” said I; “and now can you tell me the way to the bridge?”
“Not exactly, sir, for I have never been there, but you must follow this road some way farther, and then bear away to the right along yon hill”—and he pointed to a distant mountain.
I thanked him, and proceeded on my way. I passed through a deep dingle, and shortly afterwards came to the termination of the road; remembering, however, the directions of the old man, I bore away to the right, making for the distant mountain. My course lay now over very broken ground, where there was no path—at least that I could perceive. I wandered on for some time; at length, on turning round a bluff, I saw a lad tending a small herd of bullocks. “Am I in the road,” said I, “to the Pont y Gwr Drwg?”
“Nis gwn! I don’t know,” said he sullenly. “I am a hired servant, and have only been here a little time.”