"I am not a man of Llydaw," said I in English, "but Norfolk, where
the people eat the best dumplings in the world, and speak the
purest English. Now a thousand thanks for your civility. I would
have some more chat with you, but night is coming on, and I am
bound to Holyhead."

Then leaving the men staring after me, I bent my steps towards
Holyhead.

I passed by a place called Llan something, standing lonely on its
hill. The country round looked sad and desolate. It is true night
had come on when I saw it.

On I hurried. The voices of children sounded sweetly at a distance
across the wild champaign on my left.

It grew darker and darker. On I hurried along the road; at last I
came to lone, lordly groves. On my right was an open gate and a
lodge. I went up to the lodge. The door was open, and in a little
room I beheld a nice-looking old lady sitting by a table, on which
stood a lighted candle, with her eyes fixed on a large book.

"Excuse me," said I; "but who owns this property?"

The old lady looked up from her book, which appeared to be a Bible,
without the slightest surprise, though I certainly came upon her
unawares, and answered:

"Mr John Wynn."