“Llanfair, Llanfair?” said the man, “what do you mean?”
“Are you not there already?” said the fellow stamping on the ground, “are you not in Llanfair?
“Town, town! Oh, I have no English,” said the man; and off he started like a frighted bullock. The poor fellow was probably at first terrified at seeing an Englishman, then confused at hearing an Englishman speak Welsh, a language which the Welsh in general imagine no Englishman can speak, the tongue of an Englishman as they say not being long enough to pronounce Welsh; and lastly utterly deprived of what reasoning faculties he had still remaining by my asking him for the town of Llanfair, there being properly no town.
I went on, and at last getting out of the lane, found myself upon the road, along which I had come about two hours before; the house of the miller was at some distance on my right. Near me were two or three houses and part of the skeleton of one, on which some men, in the dress of masons, seemed to be occupied. Going up to these men I said in Welsh to one, whom I judged to be the principal, and who was rather a tall fine-looking fellow:
“Have you heard a sound of Gronwy Owain?”
Here occurred another instance of the strange things people do when their ideas are confused. The man stood for a moment or two, as if transfixed, a trowel motionless in one of his hands, and a brick in the other; at last giving a kind of gasp, he answered in very tolerable Spanish:
“Is his house far from here?” said I in Welsh.
“No, señor!” said the man, “no esta muy lejos.”
“I am a stranger here, friend, can anybody show me the way?”
“Si señor! este mozo luego—acompañara usted.”
Then turning to a lad of about eighteen, also dressed as a mason, he said in Welsh:
“Show this gentleman instantly the way to Tafarn Goch.”
The lad flinging a hod down, which he had on his shoulder, instantly set off, making me a motion with his head to follow him. I did so, wondering what the man could mean by speaking to me in Spanish. The lad walked by my side in silence for about two furlongs till we came to a range of trees, seemingly sycamores, behind which was a little garden, in which stood a long low house with three chimneys. The lad stopping flung open a gate which led into the garden, then crying to a child which he saw within: “Gad roi tro”—let the man take a turn; he was about to leave me, when I stopped him to put sixpence into his hand. He received the money with a gruff “Diolch!” and instantly set off at a quick pace. Passing the child who stared at me, I walked to the back part of the house, which seemed to be a long mud cottage. After examining the back part I went in front, where I saw an aged woman with several children, one of whom was the child I had first seen. She smiled and asked me what I wanted.