Half-way Miss O’Flannigan extended herself at full length on some contiguous boulders.
We were already far above Rhyddu; its slate roofs were but grey specks on the green slant of the valley, the mountains behind it had dwindled to hills, and other green valleys with dark lakes in their bosoms had appeared, crowding round the feet of Snowdon. It was a fine view, and there was plenty of it, and it had for the first minute or two the peculiarity of moving in earthquake leaps that kept time to the thumping pulses of my head. It quieted down gradually, and Miss O’Flannigan, faint yet pursuing, addressed herself again to conversation and Griffith Roberts.
“Are there many eagles on Snowdon?” she began in a slow shout.
Griffith Roberts was examining the scenery with a still eye of cold recognition, and said, “Oh yess, indeed,” which by this time we understood to be the Welsh manner of expressing want of comprehension.
“Eagles! Big birds, you know!” screamed Miss O’Flannigan.
The guide shook his head, and again said, “Oh yess.”
Miss O’Flannigan got up from her boulders.