I inquired of my guide whether
there was any tale connected with this stone.
"None," he replied; "but I have heard people say that it was a
strange stone, and on that account I brought you to look at it."
A little farther down he showed me part of a ruined wall.
"What name does this bear?" said I.
"Clawdd yr Afalon," he replied. "The dyke of the orchard."
"A strange place for an orchard," I replied. "If there was ever an
orchard on this bleak hill, the apples must have been very sour."
Over rocks and stones we descended till we found ourselves on a
road, not very far from the shore, on the south-east side of the
hill.
"I am very thirsty," said I, as I wiped the perspiration from my
face; "how I should like now to drink my fill of cool spring
water."
"If your honour is inclined for water," said my guide, "I can take
you to the finest spring in all Wales."
"Pray do so," said I, "for I really am dying of thirst."
"It is on our way to the town," said the lad, "and is scarcely a
hundred yards off."
He then led me to the fountain. It was a little well under a stone
wall, on the left side of the way.
