"Then write your name in this book," said I, taking out a pocket-
book and a pencil, "and write likewise that you are related to
Gronwy Owen - and be sure you write in Welsh."
The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and
placing the former on the table wrote as follows:
"Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen."
That is, "Ellen Jones belonging from afar to Gronwy Owen."
When I saw the name of Ellen I had no doubt that the children were
related to the illustrious Gronwy. Ellen is a very uncommon Welsh
name, but it seems to have been a family name of the Owens; it was
borne by an infant daughter of the poet whom he tenderly loved, and
who died whilst he was toiling at Walton in Cheshire, -
"Ellen, my darling,
Who liest in the Churchyard at Walton."
says poor Gronwy in one of the most affecting elegies ever written.
After a little farther conversation I bade the family farewell and
left the house. After going down the road a hundred yards I turned
back in order to ask permission to gather a leaf from one of the
sycamores. Seeing the man who had helped me in my conversation
with the old woman standing at the gate, I told him what I wanted,
whereupon he instantly tore down a handful of leaves and gave them
to me. Thrusting them into my coat-pocket I thanked him kindly and
departed.
Coming to the half-erected house, I again saw the man to whom I had
addressed myself for information. I stopped, and speaking Spanish
to him, asked how he had acquired the Spanish language.
"I have been in Chili, sir," said he in the same tongue, "and in
California, and in those places I learned Spanish."
"What did you go to Chili for?" said I; "I need not ask you on what
account you went to California."
"I went there as a mariner," said the man; "I sailed out of
Liverpool for Chili."
"And how is it," said I, "that being a mariner and sailing in a
Liverpool ship you do not speak English?"
"I speak English, senor," said the man, "perfectly well."
"Then how in the name of wonder," said I, speaking English, "came
you to answer me in Spanish? I am an Englishman thorough bred."
"I can scarcely tell you how it was, sir," said the man scratching
his head, "but I thought I would speak to you in Spanish."
"And why not English?" said I.
"Why, I heard you speaking Welsh," said the man; "and as for an
Englishman speaking Welsh -"
"But why not answer me in Welsh?" said I.
"Why, I saw it was not your language, sir," said the man, "and as I
had picked up some Spanish I thought it would be but fair to answer
you in it."
"But how did you know that I could speak Spanish?" said I.
"I don't know indeed, sir," said the man; "but I looked at you, and
something seemed to tell me that you could speak Spanish. I can't
tell you how it was sir," said he, looking me very innocently in
the face, "but I was forced to speak Spanish to you. I was
indeed!"
"The long and the short of it was," said I, "that you took me for a
foreigner, and thought that it would be but polite to answer me in
a foreign language."
"I daresay it was so, sir," said the man. "I daresay it was just
as you say."
"How did you fare in California?" said I.
"Very fairly indeed, sir," said the man. "I made some money there,
and brought it home, and with part of it I am building this house."
"I am very happy to hear it," said I, "you are really a remarkable
man - few return from California speaking Spanish as you do, and
still fewer with money in their pockets."
The poor fellow looked pleased at what I said, more especially at
that part of the sentence which touched upon his speaking Spanish
well. Wishing him many years of health and happiness in the house
he was building, I left him, and proceeded on my path towards
Pentraeth Goch.
After walking some way, I turned round in order to take a last look
of the place which had so much interest for me. The mill may be
seen from a considerable distance; so may some of the scattered
houses, and also the wood which surrounds the house of the
illustrious Gronwy. Prosperity to Llanfair! and may many a
pilgrimage be made to it of the same character as my own.
CHAPTER XXXIII
Boxing Harry - Mr Bos - Black Robin - Drovers - Commercial
Travellers.
I ARRIVED at the hostelry of Mr Pritchard without meeting any
adventure worthy of being marked down. I went into the little
parlour, and, ringing the bell, was presently waited upon by Mrs
Pritchard, a nice matronly woman, whom I had not before seen, of
whom I inquired what I could have for dinner.
"This is no great place for meat," said Mrs Pritchard, "that is
fresh meat, for sometimes a fortnight passes without anything being
killed in the neighbourhood. I am afraid at present there is not a
bit of fresh meat to be had. What we can get you for dinner I do
not know, unless you are willing to make shift with bacon and
eggs."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said I, "I will have the bacon and
eggs with tea and bread-and-butter, not forgetting a pint of ale -
in a word, I will box Harry."
"I suppose you are a commercial gent," said Mrs Pritchard.
