“But He came in the shape of a man to set an example. Had there been anything wrong in walking about on the Sabbath day, He would not have done it.” Here the wife exclaimed, “How worldly-wise these English are!” “You do not like the English,” said I. “We do not dislike them,” said the woman; “at present they do us no harm, whatever they did of old.” “But you still consider them,” said I, “the seed of Y Sarfes cadwynog, the coiling serpent.” “I should be loth to call any people the seed of the serpent,” said the woman. “But one of your great bards did,” said I. “He must have belonged to the Church, and not to the chapel then,” said the woman. “No person who went to chapel would have used such bad words.” “He lived,” said I, “before people were separated into those of the Church, and the chapel; did you ever hear of Taliesin Ben Beirdd?” “I never did,” said the woman. “But I have,” said the man; “and of Owain Glendower too.” “Do people talk much of Owen Glendower in these parts?” said I. “Plenty,” said the man, “and no wonder, for when he was alive he was much about here—some way farther on there is a mount, on the bank of the Dee, called the mount of Owen Glendower, where it is said he used to stand and look out after his enemies.” “Is it easy to find?” said I. “Very easy,” said the man, “it stands right upon the Dee and is covered with trees; there is no mistaking it.” I bade the man and his wife farewell, and proceeded on my way. After walking about a mile, I perceived a kind of elevation which answered to the description of Glendower’s mount, which the man by the bridge had given me. It stood on the right hand, at some distance from the road, across a field. As I was standing looking at it a man came up from the direction in which I myself had come. He was a middle-aged man plainly but decently dressed, and had something of the appearance of a farmer. “What hill may that be?” said I in English, pointing to the elevation. “Dim Saesneg, sir,” said the man, looking rather sheepish, “Dim gair o Saesneg.” Rather surprised that a person of his appearance should not have a word of English I repeated my question in Welsh. “Ah, you speak Cumraeg, sir,” said the man, evidently surprised that a person of my English appearance should speak Welsh. “I am glad of it! What hill is that, you ask—Dyna Mont Owain Glyndwr, sir.” “Is it easy to get to?” said I. “Quite easy, sir,” said the man. “If you please I will go with you.” I thanked him, and opening a gate he conducted me across the field to the mount of the Welsh hero.