“Come, aunt,” said John, “bring us bread and cheese and a quart of the best ale.” The woman looked as if she was going to reply in the tongue in which he addressed her, then faltered, and at last said in English that she did not understand. “Now,” said I, “you are fairly caught: this man is a Welshman, and moreover understands no language but Welsh.” “Then how can he understand you?” said she. “Because I speak Welsh,” said I. “Then you are a Welshman?” said she. “No I am not,” said I, “I am English.” “So I thought,” said she, “and on that account I could not understand you.” “You mean that you would not,” said I. “Now do you choose to bring what you are bidden?” “Come, aunt,” said John, “don’t be silly and cenfigenus, but bring the breakfast.” The woman stood still for a moment or two, and then biting her lips went away. “What made the woman behave in this manner?” said I to my companion. “O, she was cenfigenus, sir,” he replied; “she did not like that an English gentleman should understand Welsh; she was envious; you will find a dozen or two like her in Wales; but let us hope not more.” Presently the woman returned with the bread, cheese and ale, which she placed on the table. “Oh,” said I, “you have brought what was bidden, though it was never mentioned to you in English, which shows that your pretending not to understand was all a sham. What made you behave so?” “Why I thought,” said the woman, “that no Englishman could speak Welsh, that his tongue was too short.” “Your having thought so,” said I, “should not have made you tell a falsehood, saying that you did not understand, when you knew that you understood very well. See what a disgraceful figure you cut.” “I cut no disgraced figure,” said the woman: “after all, what right have the English to come here speaking Welsh, which belongs to the Welsh alone, who in fact are the only people that understand it.” “Are you sure that you understand Welsh?” said I. “I should think so,” said the woman, “for I come from the vale of Clwyd, where they speak the best Welsh in the world, the Welsh of the Bible.” “What do they call a salmon in the vale of Clwyd?” said I. “What do they call a salmon?” said the woman. “Yes,” said I, “when they speak Welsh.” “They call it—they call it—why a salmon.” “Pretty Welsh!” said I. “I thought you did not understand Welsh.” “Well, what do you call it?” said the woman. “Eawg,” said I, “that is the word for a salmon in general—but there are words also to show the sex—when you speak of a male salmon you should say cemyw, when of a female hwyfell.” “I never heard the words before,” said the woman, “nor do I believe them to be Welsh.” “You say so,” said I, “because you do not understand Welsh.” “I not understand Welsh!” said she. “I’ll soon show you that I do. Come, you have asked me the word for salmon in Welsh, I will now ask you the word for salmon-trout. Now tell me that, and I will say you know something of the matter.”