After breakfasting I paid my bill, and set out for the Devil's
Bridge without seeing anything more of that remarkable personage in
whom were united landlord, farmer, poet, and mighty fine gentleman
- the master of the house. I soon reached the bottom of the
valley, where are a few houses and the bridge from which the place
takes its name, Pont Erwyd signifying the bridge of Erwyd. As I
was looking over the bridge, near which are two or three small
waterfalls, an elderly man in a grey coat, followed by a young lad
and dog, came down the road which I had myself just descended.
"Good day, sir," said he, stopping, when he came upon the bridge.
"I suppose you are bound my road?"
"Ah," said I, recognising the old mining captain with whom I had
talked in the kitchen the night before, "is it you? I am glad to
see you. Yes, I am bound your way, provided you are going to the
Devil's Bridge."
"Then, sir, we can go together, for I am bound to my mine, which
lies only a little way t'other side of the Devil's Bridge."
Crossing the bridge of Erwyd, we directed our course to the south-
east.
"What young man is that," said I, "who is following behind us?"
"The young man, sir, is my son John, and the dog with him is his
dog Joe."
"And what may your name be, if I may take the liberty of asking?"
"Greaves, sir; John Greaves from the county of Durham.
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