“I think I like English best,” said the girl, “it is the most useful language.” “Not in Anglesey,” said I. “Well,” said the girl, “it is the most genteel.” “Gentility,” said I, “will be the ruin of Welsh, as it has been of many other things—what have I to pay for the ale?” “Threepence,” said she. I paid the money, and the girl went out. I finished my ale, and getting up made for the door; at the door I was met by Mr. Hugh Pritchard, who came out of the tap-room to thank me for my custom, and to bid me farewell. I asked him whether I should have any difficulty in finding the way to Llanfair. “None whatever,” said he; “you have only to pass over the bridge of the traeth, and to go due north for about four miles, and you will find yourself in Llanfair.” “What kind of place is it?” said I. “A poor straggling village,” said Mr. Pritchard. “Shall I be able to obtain a lodging there for the night?” said I. “Scarcely one such as you would like,” said Hugh. “And where had I best pass the night?” I demanded. “We can accommodate you comfortably here,” said Mr. Pritchard, “provided you have no objection to come back.” I told him that I should be only too happy, and forthwith departed, glad at heart that I had secured a comfortable lodging for the night. CHAPTER XXXII Leave Pentraeth—Tranquil Scene—the Knoll—The Miller and his Wife—Poetry of Gronwy—Kind Offer—Church of Llanfair—No English—Confusion of Ideas—Tŷ Gronwy—Notable Little Girl—The Sycamore Leaf—Home from California. The village of Pentraeth Coch occupies two sides of a romantic dell—that part of it which stands on the southern side, and which comprises the church and the little inn, is by far the prettiest, that which occupies the northern, is a poor assemblage of huts, a brook rolls at the bottom of the dell over which there is a little bridge: coming to the bridge I stopped, and looked over the side into the water running briskly below, an aged man who looked like a beggar, but who did not beg of me, stood by. “To what place does this water run?” said I in English. “I know no Saxon,” said he in trembling accents. I repeated my question in Welsh. “To the sea,” he said, “which is not far off; indeed it is so near, that when there are high tides the salt water comes up to this bridge.” “You seem feeble?” said I. “I am so,” said he, “for I am old.” “How old are you?” said I. “Sixteen after sixty,” said the old man with a sigh; “and I have nearly lost my sight and my hearing.” “Are you poor?” said I. “Very,” said the old man. I gave him a trifle which he accepted with thanks. “Why is this sand called the red sand?” said I. “I cannot tell you,” said the old man; “I wish I could, for you have been kind to me.” Bidding him farewell I passed through the northern part of the village to the top of the hill. I walked a little way forward and then stopped, as I had done at the bridge in the dale, and looked to the east, over a low stone wall.