"Why, then, it is just Father Toban, your honour, whom of course
your honour knows."
"Oh yes!" said I; "when you next see him present my respects to
him."
"What name shall I mention, your honour?"
"Shorsha Borroo," said I.
"Oh, then I was right in taking your honour for an Irishman. None
but a raal Paddy bears that name. A credit to your honour is your
name, for it is a famous name, (17) and a credit to your name is
your honour, for it is a neat man without a bend you are. God
bless your honour and good night! and may you find dacent quarters
in the 'Pump Saint.'"
Leaving Mary Bane I proceeded on my way. The evening was rather
fine but twilight was coming rapidly on. I reached the bottom of
the valley and soon overtook a young man dressed something like a
groom. We entered into conversation. He spoke Welsh and a little
English. His Welsh I had great difficulty in understanding, as it
was widely different from that which I had been accustomed to. He
asked me where I was going to; I replied to the "Pump Saint," and
then enquired if he was in service.
"I am," said he.
"With whom do you live?" said I.
"With Mr Johnes of Dol Cothi," he answered.
