He shook his head at my English.
"What," said I, addressing him in the language of the country,
"have you no English? Perhaps you have Welsh?"
"Plenty," said he, laughing "there is no lack of Welsh amongst any
of us here. Are you a Welshman?"
"No," said I, "an Englishman from the far east of Lloegr."
"And what brings you here?" said the man.
"A strange errand," I replied, "to look at the birth-place of a man
who has long been dead."
"Do you come to seek for an inheritance?" said the man.
"No," said I. "Besides the man whose birth-place I came to see,
died poor, leaving nothing behind him but immortality."
"Who was he?" said the miller.
"Did you ever hear a sound of Gronwy Owen?" said I.
"Frequently," said the miller; "I have frequently heard a sound of
him. He was born close by in a house yonder," pointing to the
south.
"Oh yes, gentleman," said a nice-looking woman, who holding a
little child by the hand was come to the house-door, and was
eagerly listening, "we have frequently heard speak of Gronwy Owen;
there is much talk of him in these parts."
"I am glad to hear it," said I, "for I have feared that his name
would not be known here."
"Pray, gentleman, walk in!" said the miller; "we are going to have
our afternoon's meal, and shall be rejoiced if you will join us."
"Yes, do, gentleman," said the miller's wife, for such the good
woman was; "and many a welcome shall you have."
I hesitated, and was about to excuse myself.
