“It does so,” said the guide, “and it is called the place of sitting because three men from different quarters of the world once met here, and one proposed that they should sit down.”
“And did they?” said I.
“They did, sir; and when they had sat down they told each other their histories.”
“I should be glad to know what their histories were,” said I.
“I can’t exactly tell you what they were, but I have heard say that there was a great deal in them about the Tylwith Teg or fairies.”
“Do you believe in fairies?” said I.
“I do, sir; but they are very seldom seen, and when they are they do no harm to anybody. I only wish there were as few corpse-candles as there are Tylwith Teg, and that they did as little harm.”
“They foreshow people’s deaths, don’t they?” said I.
“They do, sir? but that’s not all the harm they do. They are very dangerous for anybody to meet with. If they come bump up against you when you are walking carelessly it’s generally all over with you in this world. I’ll give you an example: A man returning from market from Llan Eglos to Llan Curig, not far from Plynlimmon, was struck down dead as a horse not long ago by a corpse-candle. It was a rainy, windy night, and the wind and rain were blowing in his face, so that he could not see it, or get out of its way. And yet the candle was not abroad on purpose to kill the man. The business that it was about was to prognosticate the death of a woman who lived near the spot and whose husband dealt in wool—poor thing! she was dead and buried in less than a fortnight. Ah, master, I wish that corpse-candles were as few and as little dangerous as the Tylwith Teg or fairies.”
We returned to the inn where I settled with the honest fellow, adding a trifle to what I had agreed to give him. Then sitting down I called for a large measure of ale and invited him to partake of it. He accepted my offer with many thanks and bows, and as we sat and drank our ale we had a great deal of discourse about the places we had visited. The ale being finished I got up and said: