"Pen y Coed," said I, "means the head of the wood. I suppose that
in the old time the mountain looked over some extensive forest,
even as the nunnery of Pengwern looked originally over an alder-
swamp, for Pengwern means the head of the alder-swamp."
"So it does, sir, I shouldn't wonder if you could tell me the real
meaning of a word, about which I have thought a good deal, and
about which I was puzzling my head last night as I lay in bed."
"What may it be?" said I.
"Carn-lleidyr," he replied: "now, sir, do you know the meaning of
that word?"
"I think I do," said I.
"What may it be, sir?"
"First let me hear what you conceive its meaning to be," said I.
"Why, sir, I should say that Carn-lleidyr is an out-and-out thief -
one worse than a thief of the common sort. Now, if I steal a
matrass I am a lleidyr, that is a thief of the common sort; but if
I carry it to a person, and he buys it, knowing it to be stolen, I
conceive he is a far worse thief than I; in fact, a carn-lleidyr."
"The word is a double word," said I, "compounded of carn and
lleidyr. The original meaning of carn is a heap of stones, and
carn-lleidyr means properly a thief without house or home, and with
no place on which to rest his head, save the carn or heap of stones
on the bleak top of the mountain.
