"Iss-iss," the tailor mumbled.
"Not wanting an old farm do I," Sheremiah cried. "But speak to goodness
where the place is. Near you are, calf bach, about affairs."
The tailor answered that Rhydwen is in the hollow of the hill which
arises from Capel Sion to the moor.
In the morning Sheremiah rode forth on his colt, and he said to Shan
Rhydwen: "Boy of a pigger am I, whatever."
"Dirt-dirt, man," Shan cried; "no fat pigs have I, look you."
"Mournful that is. Mouthings have I heard about grand pigs Tyhen. No
odds, wench. Farewell for this minute, female Tyhen."
"Pigger from where you are?" Shan asked.
"From Pencader the horse has carried me. Carry a preacher he did the
last Monday."
"Weary you are, stranger. Give hay to your horse, and rest you and take
you a little cup of tea."
"Happy am I to do that. Thirsty is the backhead of my neck."
Sheremiah praised the Big Man for tea, bread, butter, and cheese, and
while he ate and drank he put artful questions to Shan. In the evening
he said to Catrin: "Quite tidy is Rhydwen. Is she not one hundred acres?
And if there is not water in every field, is there not in four?"
He hastened to the owner of Rhydwen and made this utterance: "Farmer
very ordinary is your sister Shan.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83