An aged woman sat on a stool by the door.
"A fine evening," said I in English.
"Dim Saesneg;" said the aged woman.
"Oh, the blessing of being able to speak Welsh," said I; and then
repeated in that language what I had said to her in the other
tongue.
"I daresay," said the aged woman, "to those who can see."
"Can you not see?"
"Very little. I am almost blind."
"Can you not see me?"
"I can see something tall and dark before me; that is all."
"Can you tell me the name of the bridge?"
"Pont y Glyn bin - the bridge of the glen of trouble."
"And what is the name of this place?"
"Pen y bont - the head of the bridge."
"What is your own name?"
"Catherine Hughes."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen after three twenties."
"I have a mother three after four twenties; that is eight years
older than yourself."
"Can she see?"
"Better than I - she can read the smallest letters."
"May she long be a comfort to you!"
"Thank you - are you the mistress of the house?"
"I am the grandmother."
"Are the people in the house?"
"They are not - they are at the chapel."
"And they left you alone?"
"They left me with my God."
"Is the chapel far from here?"
"About a mile."
"On the road to Cerrig y Drudion?"
"On the road to Cerrig y Drudion."
I bade her farewell, and pushed on - the road was good, with high
rocky banks on each side.
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