The latter, that couchant elephant
with its head turned to the north-east, seems as if it wished to
bar the pass with its trunk; by its trunk I mean a kind of jaggy
ridge which descends down to the road. I entered the gorge,
passing near a little waterfall which with much noise runs down the
precipitous side of Mount Eilio; presently I came to a little mill
by the side of a brook running towards the east. I asked the
miller-woman, who was standing near the mill, with her head turned
towards the setting sun, the name of the mill and the stream. "The
mill is called 'The mill of the river of Lake Cwellyn,'" said she,
"and the river is called the river of Lake Cwellyn."
"And who owns the land?" said I.
"Sir Richard," said she. "I Sir Richard yw yn perthyn y tir. Mr
Williams, however, possesses some part of Mount Eilio."
"And who is Mr Williams?" said I.
"Who is Mr Williams?" said the miller's wife. "Ho, ho! what a
stranger you must be to ask me who is Mr Williams."
I smiled and passed on. The mill was below the level of the road,
and its wheel was turned by the water of a little conduit supplied
by the brook at some distance above the mill.
