During the whole time I was dotting the most marvellous silence
prevailed in the room, broken only by the occasional scratching of
the dog against the inside of the door, the ticking of the clock,
and the ruttling of the smoker's pipe in the chimney-corner. After
I had dotted to my heart's content I closed my book, put the pencil
into the loops, then the book into my pocket, drank what remained
of my ale, got up, and, after another look at the apartment and its
furniture, and a leer at the company, departed from the house
without ceremony, having paid for the ale when I received it.
After walking some fifty yards down the street I turned half round
and beheld, as I knew I should, the whole company at the door
staring after me. I leered sideways at them for about half a
minute, but they stood my leer stoutly. Suddenly I was inspired by
a thought. Turning round I confronted them, and pulling my note-
book out of my pocket, and seizing my pencil, I fell to dotting
vigorously. That was too much for them. As if struck by a panic,
my quondam friends turned round and bolted into the house; the
rustic-looking man with the smock-frock and gravelled highlows
nearly falling down in his eagerness to get in.
The name of the place where this adventure occurred was Cemmaes.
CHAPTER LXXVII
The Deaf Man - Funeral Procession - The Lone Family - The Welsh and
their Secrets - The Vale of the Dyfi - The Bright Moon.
A LITTLE way from Cemmaes I saw a respectable-looking old man like
a little farmer, to whom I said:
"How far to Machynlleth?"
Looking at me in a piteous manner in the face he pointed to the
side of his head, and said - "Dim clywed."
It was no longer no English, but no hearing.
Presently I met one yet more deaf. A large procession of men came
along the road. Some distance behind them was a band of women and
between the two bands was a kind of bier drawn by a horse with
plumes at each of the four corners. I took off my hat and stood
close against the hedge on the right-hand side till the dead had
passed me some way to its final home.
Crossed a river, which like that on the other side of Cemmaes
streamed down from a gulley between two hills into the valley of
the Dyfi. Beyond the bridge on the right-hand side of the road was
a pretty cottage, just as there was in the other locality. A fine
tall woman stood at the door, with a little child beside her. I
stopped and inquired in English whose body it was that had just
been borne by.
"That of a young man, sir, the son of a farmer, who lives a mile or
so up the road."
MYSELF. - He seems to have plenty of friends.
WOMAN. - Oh yes, sir, the Welsh have plenty of friends both in life
and death.
MYSELF. - A'n't you Welsh, then?
WOMAN. - Oh no, sir, I am English, like yourself, as I suppose.
MYSELF. - Yes, I am English. What part of England do you come
from?
WOMAN. - Shropshire, sir.
MYSELF. - Is that little child yours?
WOMAN. - Yes, sir, it is my husband's child and mine.
MYSELF. - I suppose your husband is Welsh.
WOMAN. - Oh no, sir, we are all English.
MYSELF. - And what is your husband?
WOMAN. - A little farmer, sir, he farms about forty acres under Mrs
-.
MYSELF. - Well, are you comfortable here?
WOMAN. - Oh dear me, no, sir, we are anything but comfortable.
Here we are three poor lone creatures in a strange land, without a
soul to speak to but one another. Every day of our lives we wish
we had never left Shropshire.
MYSELF. - Why don't you make friends amongst your neighbours?
WOMAN. - Oh, sir, the English cannot make friends amongst the
Welsh. The Welsh won't neighbour with them, or have anything to do
with them, except now and then in the way of business.
MYSELF. - I have occasionally found the Welsh very civil.
WOMAN. - Oh yes, sir, they can be civil enough to passers-by,
especially those who they think want nothing from them - but if you
came and settled amongst them you would find them, I'm afraid,
quite the contrary.
MYSELF. - Would they be uncivil to me if I could speak Welsh?
WOMAN. - Most particularly, sir; the Welsh don't like any
strangers, but least of all those who speak their language.
MYSELF. - Have you picked up anything of their language?
WOMAN. - Not a word, sir, nor my husband neither. They take good
care that we shouldn't pick up a word of their language. I stood
the other day and listened whilst two women were talking just where
you stand now, in the hope of catching a word, and as soon as they
saw me they passed to the other side of the bridge, and began
buzzing there. My poor husband took it into his head that he might
possibly learn a word or two at the public-house, so he went there,
called for a jug of ale and a pipe, and tried to make himself at
home just as he might in England, but it wouldn't do. The company
instantly left off talking to one another and stared at him, and
before he could finish his pot and pipe took themselves off to a
man, and then came the landlord, and asked him what he meant by
frightening away his customers. So my poor husband came home as
pale as a sheet, and sitting down in a chair said, "Lord, have
mercy upon me!"
MYSELF. - Why are the Welsh afraid that strangers should pick up
their language?
