I gathered from her that the children had lost their mother, that their name was Jones, and that their father was her son.

I asked if the house in which they lived was their own; she said no, that it belonged to a man who lived at some distance.

I asked if the children were poor.
"Very," said she.
I gave them each a trifle, and the poor old lady thanked me with tears in her eyes.
I asked whether the children could read; she said they all could, with the exception of the two youngest.

The eldest she said could read anything, whether Welsh or English; she then took from the window-sill a book, which she put into my hand, saying the child could read it and understand it.

I opened the book; it was an English school-book treating on all the sciences.
"Can you write ?" said I to the child, a little stubby girl of about eight, with a broad flat red face and grey eyes, dressed in a chintz gown, a little bonnet on her head, and looking the image of notableness.
The little maiden, who had never taken her eyes off of me for a moment during the whole time I had been in the room, at first made no answer; being, however, bid by her grandmother to speak, she at length answered in a soft voice, "Medraf, I can." "Then write your name in this book," said I, taking out a pocket-book and a pencil, "and write likewise that you are related to Gronwy Owen--and be sure you write in Welsh." The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and placing the former on the table wrote as follows: "Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen." That is, "Ellen Jones belonging from afar to Gronwy Owen." When I saw the name of Ellen I had no doubt that the children were related to the illustrious Gronwy.