nd screamed in Welsh to ask what this terrible noise was. To this they
made answer in the same language, pointing to their sad burden, and
asking permission to leave it for the doctor's inspection and the
inquest, if there was to be one. And I told them to add that I would
pay well--anything, whatever she might like to ask. But she screamed out
something that sounded like a curse, and closed the lattice violently.
Knowing that many superstitions lingered in these mountains--as, indeed,
they do elsewhere plentifully--I was not surprised at the woman's stern
refusal to admit us, especially at this time of pest; but I thought it
strange that her fierce black eyes avoided both me and the poor rude
litter on which the body of George lay, covered with some slate-workers'
aprons.

"She is not the mistress!" cried Evan Peters, in great excitement, as I
thought. "Ask where is Hopkin--Black Hopkin--where is he?"

At this suggestion a general outcry arose in Welsh for "Black Hopkin";
an outcry so loud and prolonged that the woman opened the window again
and screamed--as they told me afterward--"He is not at home, you noisy
fools; he is gone to Machynlleth. Not long would you dare to make this
noise if Hopkin ap Howel was at home."

But while she was speaking the wicket-door of the great arched gate was
thrown open, and a gun about six feet long and of very large bore was
presented at us. The quarrymen drew aside briskly, and I was about to
move somewhat hastily, when the great, swarthy man who was holding the
gun withdrew it, and lifted his hat to me, proudly and as an equal.

"You cannot enter this house," he said in very good English, and by no
means rudely. "I am sorry for it, but it cannot be. My little daughter
is very ill, the last of seven. You must go elsewhere."

With these words he bowed again to me, while his sad eyes seemed to
pierce my soul; and then he quietly closed the wicket and fastened it
with a heavy bolt, and I knew that we must indeed go further.

This was no easy thing to do; for our useless walk to "Crug y Dlwlith"
(the Dewless Hills), as this farm was called, had taken us further at
every step from the place we must strive for after all--the good little
Aber-Aydyr. The gallant quarrymen were now growing both weary and
uneasy; and in justice to them I must say that no temptation of money,
nor even any appeal to their sympathies, but only a challenge of their
patriotism held them to the sad duties owing