Nobody was in the kitchen when we entered, it looked comfortable enough, however, there was an excellent fire of wood and coals, and a very snug chimney corner.

John Jones called aloud, but for some time no one answered; at last a rather good-looking woman, seemingly about thirty, made her appearance at a door at the farther end of the kitchen.

"Is the mistress at home," said Jones, "or the master ?" "They are neither at home," said the woman, "the master is abroad at his work, and the mistress is at the farm-house of--three miles off to pick feathers (trwsio plu)." She asked us to sit down.
"And who are you ?" said I.
"I am only a lodger," said she, "I lodge here with my husband who is a clog-maker." "Can you speak English ?" said I.
"Oh yes," said she, "I lived eleven years in England, at a place called Bolton, where I married my husband, who is an Englishman." "Can he speak Welsh ?" said I.
"Not a word," said she.

"We always speak English together." John Jones sat down, and I looked about the room.

It exhibited no appearance of poverty; there was plenty of rude but good furniture in it; several pewter plates and trenchers in a rack, two or three prints in frames against the wall, one of which was the likeness of no less a person than the Rev.Joseph Sanders, on the table was a newspaper.