I was now become ashamed of keeping the worthy fellow from his business and begged him to return to his mill. He refused to leave me, at first, but on my pressing him to do so, and on my telling him that I could find the way to the house of Gronwy very well by myself, he consented. We shook hands, the miller wished me luck, and betook himself to his mill, whilst I crossed the llamfa. I soon, however, repented having left the path by which I had come. I was presently in a maze of little fields with stone walls over which I had to clamber. At last I got into a lane with a stone wall on each side. A man came towards me and was about to pass me—his look was averted, and he was evidently one of those who have “no English.” A Welshman of his description always averts his look when he sees a stranger who he thinks has “no Welsh,” lest the stranger should ask him a question and he be obliged to confess that he has “no English.” “Is this the way to Llanfair?” said I to the man. The man made a kind of rush in order to get past me. “Have you any Welsh?” I shouted as loud as I could bawl. The man stopped, and turning a dark sullen countenance half upon me said, “Yes, I have Welsh.” “Which is the way to Llanfair?” said I. “Llanfair, Llanfair?” said the man, “what do you mean?” “I want to get there,” said I. “Are you not there already?” said the fellow stamping on the ground, “are you not in Llanfair?” “Yes, but I want to get to the town.” “Town, town! Oh, I have no English,” said the man; and off he started like a frightened bullock. The poor fellow was probably at first terrified at seeing an Englishman, then confused at hearing an Englishman speak Welsh, a language which the Welsh in general imagine no Englishman can speak, the tongue of an Englishman as they say not being long enough to pronounce Welsh; and lastly utterly deprived of what reasoning faculties he had still remaining by my asking him for the town of Llanfair, there being properly no town. I went on and at last getting out of the lane, found myself upon the road, along which I had come about two hours before; the house of the miller was at some distance on my right. Near me were two or three houses and part of the skeleton of one, on which some men, in the dress of masons, seemed to be occupied. Going up to these men I said in Welsh to one, whom I judged to be the principal, and who was rather a tall fine-looking fellow: “Have you heard a sound of Gronwy Owain?” Here occurred another instance of the strange things people do when their ideas are confused. The man stood for a moment or two, as if transfixed, a trowel motionless in one of his hands, and a brick in the other; at last giving a kind of gasp, he answered in very tolerable Spanish: “Si, señor! he oido.” “Is his house far from here?” said I in Welsh. “No, señor!” said the man, “no esta muy lejos.” “I am a stranger here, friend, can anybody show me the way?” “Si Señor! este mozo luego acompañara usted.”