The good lady had told me that there was a tenant of
hers who lived in one of the cottages, which looked into the
perllan, who, she believed, would be glad to go with me, and was
just the kind of man I was in quest of. The day after I had met
with the adventures, which I have related in the preceding chapter,
she informed me that the person in question was awaiting my orders
in the kitchen. I told her to let me see him. He presently made
his appearance. He was about forty-five years of age, of middle
stature, and had a good-natured open countenance. His dress was
poor, but clean.
"Well," said I to him in Welsh, "are you the Cumro who can speak no
Saxon?"
"In truth, sir, I am."
"Are you sure that you know no Saxon?"
"Sir! I may know a few words, but I cannot converse in Saxon, nor
understand a conversation in that tongue."
"Can you read Cumraeg?"
"In truth, sir, I can."
"What have you read in it?"
"I have read, sir, the Ysgrythyr-lan, till I have it nearly at the
ends of my fingers."
"Have you read anything else besides the holy Scripture?"
"I read the newspaper, sir, when kind friends lend it to me."
"In Cumraeg?"
"Yes, sir, in Cumraeg. I can read Saxon a little but not
sufficient to understand a Saxon newspaper.
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