Turning round I confronted them, and pulling my note-
book out of my pocket, and seizing my pencil, I fell to dotting
vigorously. That was too much for them. As if struck by a panic,
my quondam friends turned round and bolted into the house; the
rustic-looking man with the smock-frock and gravelled highlows
nearly falling down in his eagerness to get in.
The name of the place where this adventure occurred was Cemmaes.
CHAPTER LXXVII
The Deaf Man - Funeral Procession - The Lone Family - The Welsh and
their Secrets - The Vale of the Dyfi - The Bright Moon.
A LITTLE way from Cemmaes I saw a respectable-looking old man like
a little farmer, to whom I said:
"How far to Machynlleth?"
Looking at me in a piteous manner in the face he pointed to the
side of his head, and said - "Dim clywed."
It was no longer no English, but no hearing.
Presently I met one yet more deaf. A large procession of men came
along the road. Some distance behind them was a band of women and
between the two bands was a kind of bier drawn by a horse with
plumes at each of the four corners. I took off my hat and stood
close against the hedge on the right-hand side till the dead had
passed me some way to its final home.
