CHAPTER XXXIX.
Oats and Methodism--The Little Girl--Ty Gwyn--Bird of the Roof--Purest English--Railroads--Inconsistency--The Boots.
It might be about four in the afternoon when I left L--- bound for Pen Caer Gybi, or Holyhead, seventeen miles distant.

I reached the top of the hill on the west of the little town, and then walked briskly forward.
The country looked poor and mean--on my right was a field of oats, on my left a Methodist chapel--oats and Methodism! what better symbols of poverty and meanness?
I went onward a long way, the weather was broiling hot, and I felt thirsty.

On the top of a long ascent stood a house by the roadside.

I went to the door and knocked--no answer--"Oes neb yn y ty ?" said I.
"Oes!" said an infantine voice.
I opened the door and saw a little girl.

"Have you any water ?" said I.
"No," said the child, "but I have this," and she brought me some butter-milk in a basin.