I quickened my steps and soon came up to the two individuals. One was an elderly man, dressed in a smock frock and with a hairy cap on his head. The other was much younger, wore a hat, and was dressed in a coarse suit of blue nearly new, and doubtless his Sunday's best. He was smoking a pipe. I greeted them in English and sat down near them. They responded in the same language, the younger man with considerable civility and briskness, the other in a tone of voice denoting some reserve.
"May I ask the name of this lake?" said I, addressing myself to the young man who sat between me and the elderly one.
"Its name is Llyn Cwellyn, sir," said he, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "And a fine lake it is.""Plenty of fish in it?" I demanded.
"Plenty, sir; plenty of trout and pike and char.""Is it deep?" said I.
"Near the shore it is shallow, sir, but in the middle and near the other side it is deep, so deep that no one knows how deep it is.""What is the name," said I, "of the great black mountain there on the other side?""It is called Mynydd Mawr or the Great Mountain. Yonder rock, which bulks out from it, down the lake yonder, and which you passed as you came along, is called Castell Cidwm, which means Wolf's rock or castle.""Did a wolf ever live there?" I demanded.
"Perhaps so," said the man, "for I have heard say that there were wolves of old in Wales.""And what is the name of the beautiful hill yonder, before us across the water?""That, sir, is called Cairn Drws y Coed," said the man.
"The stone heap of the gate of the wood," said I.
"Are you Welsh, sir?" said the man.
"No," said I, "but I know something of the language of Wales. Isuppose you live in that house?"
"Not exactly, sir, my father-in-law here lives in that house, and my wife with him. I am a miner, and spend six days in the week at my mine, but every Sunday I come here and pass the day with my wife and him.""And what profession does he follow?" said I; "is he a fisherman?""Fisherman!" said the elderly man contemptuously, "not I. I am the Snowdon Ranger.""And what is that?" said I.
The elderly man tossed his head proudly, and made no reply.
"A ranger means a guide, sir," said the younger man; "my father-in-law is generally termed the Snowdon Ranger because he is a tip-top guide, and he has named the house after him the Snowdon Ranger. He entertains gentlemen in it who put themselves under his guidance in order to ascend Snowdon and to see the country.""There is some difference in your professions," said "he deals in heights, you in depths, both, however, are break-necky trades.""I run more risk from gunpowder than anything else," said the younger man. "I am a slate-miner, and am continually blasting. Ihave, however, had my falls. Are you going far to-night, sir?""I am going to Beth Gelert," said I.
"A good six miles, sir, from here. Do you come from Caernarvon?""Farther than that," said I. "I come from Bangor.""To-day, sir, and walking?"
"To-day, and walking."
"You must be rather tired, sir, you came along the valley very slowly.""I am not in the slightest degree tired," said I; "when I start from here, I shall put on my best pace, and soon get to Beth Gelert.""Anybody can get along over level ground," said the old man, laconically.
"Not with equal swiftness," said I. "I do assure you, friend, to be able to move at a good swinging pace over level ground is something not to be sneezed at. Not," said I, lifting up my voice, "that I would for a moment compare walking on the level ground to mountain ranging, pacing along the road to springing up crags like a mountain goat, or assert that even Powell himself, the first of all road walkers, was entitled to so bright a wreath of fame as the Snowdon Ranger.""Won't you walk in, sir?" said the elderly man.