"Ynys Fon!" said the man. "Yes, I have been in Anglesey more times
than I can tell."
"Do you know Hugh Pritchard," said I, "who lives at Pentraeth
Coch?"
"I know him well," said the man, "and an honest fellow he is."
"And Mr Bos?" said I.
"What Bos?" said he. "Do you mean a lusty, red-faced man in top-
boots and grey coat?"
"That's he," said I.
"He's a clever one," said the man. "I suppose by your knowing
these people you are a drover or a horse-dealer. Yes," said he,
turning half-round in his saddle and looking at me, "you are a
horse-dealer. I remember you well now, and once sold a horse to
you at Chelmsford."
"I am no horse-dealer," said I, "nor did I ever buy a horse at
Chelmsford. I see you have been about England. Have you ever been
in Norfolk or Suffolk?"
"No," said the man, "but I know something of Suffolk. I have an
uncle there."
"Whereabouts in Suffolk?" said I.
"At a place called -," said the man.
"In what line of business?" said I.
"In none at all; he is a clergyman."
"Shall I tell you his name?" said I.
"It is not likely you should know his name," said the man.
"Nevertheless," said I, "I will tell it you - his name was - "
"Well," said the man, "sure enough that is his name."
"It was his name," said I, "but I am sorry to tell you he is no
more.
