After leaving the village of Pentre Voelas I soon found myself in a
wild hilly region. I crossed a bridge over a river, which,
brawling and tumbling amidst rocks, shaped its course to the north-
east. As I proceeded, the country became more and more wild; there
were dingles and hollows in abundance, and fantastic-looking hills,
some of which were bare, and others clad with trees of various
kinds. Came to a little well in a cavity, dug in a high bank on
the left-hand side of the road, and fenced by rude stone work on
either side; the well was about ten inches in diameter, and as many
deep. Water oozing from the bank upon a slanting tile fastened
into the earth fell into it. After damming up the end of the tile
with my hand, and drinking some delicious water, I passed on and
presently arrived at a cottage, just inside the door of which sat a
good-looking middle-aged woman engaged in knitting, the general
occupation of Welsh females.
"Good-day," said I to her in Welsh. "Fine weather."
"In truth, sir, it is fine weather for the harvest."
"Are you alone in the house?"
"I am, sir, my husband has gone to his labour."
"Have you any children?"
"Two, sir; but they are out at service."
"What is the name of this place?"
"Pant Paddock, sir."
"Do you get your water from the little well yonder?"
"We do, sir, and good water it is."
"I have drunk of it."
"Much good may what you have drunk do you, sir!"
"What is the name of the river near here?"
"It is called the Conway, sir."
"Dear me; is that river the Conway?"
"You have heard of it, sir?"
"Heard of it!
