“Who is your spiritual director?” said I.
“Why then, it is jist Father Toban, your honour, whom of course your honour knows.”
“O yes!” said I; “when you next see him present my respects to him.”
“What name shall I mention, your honour?”
“Shorsha Borroo,” said I.
“Oh, then I was right in taking your honour for an Irishman. None but a raal Paddy bears that name. A credit to your honour is your name, for it is a famous name, [538] and a credit to your name is your honour, for it is a neat man without a bend you are. God bless your honour and good night! and may you find dacent quarters in the ‘Pump Saint.’”
Leaving Mary Bane I proceeded on my way. The evening was rather fine but twilight was coming rapidly on. I reached the bottom of the valley and soon overtook a young man dressed something like a groom. We entered into conversation. He spoke Welsh and a little English. His Welsh I had great difficulty in understanding, as it was widely different from that which I had been accustomed to. He asked me where I was going to; I replied to the “Pump Saint,” and then inquired if he was in service.
“I am,” said he.
“With whom do you live?” said I.
“With Mr. Johnes of Dol Cothi,” he answered.