"Four long miles," she replied.
"And what is the name of the place where we are now?" said I.
"Cae Hir" (the long inclosure), said she.
"Are you alone in the house?" said I.
"Quite alone," said she; "but my husband and people will soon be
home from the field, for it is getting dusk."
"Have you any Saxon?" said I.
"Not a word," said she, "have I of the iaith dieithr, nor has my
husband, nor any one of my people."
I bade her farewell, and soon reached the road, which led south and
north. As I was bound for the south I strode forward briskly in
that direction. The road was between romantic hills; heard Welsh
songs proceeding from the hill fields on my right, and the murmur
of a brook rushing down a deep nant on my left. I went on till I
came to a collection of houses which an old woman, with a cracked
voice and a small tin milk-pail, whom I assisted in getting over a
stile into the road, told me was called Pen Strit - probably the
head of the street. She spoke English, and on my asking her how
she had learnt the English tongue, she told me that she had learnt
it of her mother who was an English woman. She said that I was two
miles from Llan Rhyadr, and that I must go straight forward. I did
so till I reached a place where the road branched into two, one
bearing somewhat to the left, and the other to the right.
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