He was about forty-five years of age, of middle
stature, and had a good-natured open countenance. His dress was
poor, but clean.
"Well," said I to him in Welsh, "are you the Cumro who can speak no
Saxon?"
"In truth, sir, I am."
"Are you sure that you know no Saxon?"
"Sir! I may know a few words, but I cannot converse in Saxon, nor
understand a conversation in that tongue."
"Can you read Cumraeg?"
"In truth, sir, I can."
"What have you read in it?"
"I have read, sir, the Ysgrythyr-lan, till I have it nearly at the
ends of my fingers."
"Have you read anything else besides the holy Scripture?"
"I read the newspaper, sir, when kind friends lend it to me."
"In Cumraeg?"
"Yes, sir, in Cumraeg. I can read Saxon a little but not
sufficient to understand a Saxon newspaper."
"What newspaper do you read?"
"I read, sir, Yr Amserau."
"Is that a good newspaper?"
"Very good, sir, it is written by good men."
"Who are they?"
"They are our ministers, sir."
"Of what religion are you?"
"A Calvinistic Methodist, sir."
"Why are you of the Methodist religion?"
"Because it is the true religion, sir."
"You should not be bigoted. If I had more Cumraeg than I have, I
would prove to you that the only true religion is that of the
Lloegrian Church."
"In truth, sir, you could not do that; had you all the Cumraeg in
Cumru you could not do that."
"What are you by trade?"
"I am a gwehydd, sir."
"What do you earn by weaving?"
"About five shillings a week, sir."
"Have you a wife?
