Going up to a man of respectable appearance, who seemed to be superintending the others, I asked him in English the way to Pentre y Dwr.

He replied that I must follow the path up the hill towards the house, behind which I should find a road which would lead me through the wood to Pentre Dwr.

As he spoke very good English, I asked him where he had learnt it.
"Chiefly in South Wales," said he, "where they speak less Welsh than here." I gathered from him that he lived in the house on the hill and was a farmer.

I asked him to what place the road up the valley to the north led.
"We generally go by that road to Wrexham," he replied; "it is a short but a wild road through the hills." After a little discourse on the times, which he told me were not quite so bad for farmers as they had been, I bade him farewell.
Mounting the hill I passed round the house, as the farmer had directed me, and turned to the west along a path on the side of the mountain.

A deep valley was on my left, and on my right above me a thick wood, principally of oak.