"Is it because it comes in winter weather roaring down the glen and butting at the Ceiriog ?" The woman laughed, and replied that perhaps it was.

The valley was wild and solitary to an extraordinary degree, the brook or torrent running in the middle of it covered with alder trees.

After we had proceeded about a furlong we reached the house of the old fashion--it was a rude stone cottage standing a little above the road on a kind of platform on the right-hand side of the glen; there was a paling before it with a gate, at which a pig was screaming, as if anxious to get in.

"It wants its dinner," said John Jones, and opened the gate for me to pass, taking precautions that the screamer did not enter at the same time.

We entered the cottage, very glad to get into it, a storm of wind and rain having just come on.