"A very proper name," said I, "for there is plenty of oaks growing
about. But why are they called by a Saxon name, for Oaklands is
Saxon?"
"Because," said the lady, "when the grounds were first planted with
trees they belonged to an English family."
"Thank you," said I, and, taking off my hat, I departed with my
guide. I asked him her name, but he could not tell me. Before she
was out of sight, however, we met a labourer of whom John Jones
enquired her name.
"Her name is W-s," said the man, "and a good lady she is."
"Is she Welsh?" said I.
"Pure Welsh, master," said the man. "Purer Welsh flesh and blood
need not be."
Nothing farther worth relating occurred till we reached the toll-
bar at the head of the hen ffordd, by which time the sun was almost
gone down. We found the master of the gate, his wife and son
seated on a bench before the door. The woman had a large book on
her lap, in which she was reading by the last light of the
departing orb. I gave the group the sele of the evening in
English, which they all returned, the woman looking up from her
book.
"Is that volume the Bible?" said I.
"It is, sir," said the woman.
"May I look at it?" said I.
"Certainly," said the woman, and placed the book in my hand. It
was a magnificent Welsh Bible, but without the title-page.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140