ould have been struck with the lovely and
romantic view which burst upon the eye as the travellers left the
platform at Glanafon and walked down the short, grassy road that led to
the ferry. To the south stretched the wide pool of the river, blue as
the heaven above where it caught the reflection of the September sky,
but dark and mysterious where it mirrored the thick woods that shaded
its banks. Near at hand towered the tall, heather-crowned crag of Cwm
Dinas, while the rugged peaks of Penllwyd and Penglaslyn frowned in
majesty of clouds beyond. The ferry itself was one of those delightful
survivals of mediaevalism which linger here and there in a few fortunate
corners of our isles. A large flat-bottomed boat was slung on chains
which spanned the river, and could be worked slowly across the water by
means of a small windlass. Though it was perfectly possible, and often
even more convenient, to drive to the school direct from Llangarmon
Junction, so great was the popular feeling in favour of arrival by the
ferry that at the autumn and spring reunions the girls were allowed to
avail themselves of the branch railway and approach The Woodlands by way
of the river.

They now hurried on to the boat as if anticipating a pleasure-jaunt. The
capacities of the flat were designed to accommodate a flock of sheep or
a farm wagon and horses, so there was room and to spare even for
thirty-seven girls and their hand luggage. Evan Davis, the crusty old
ferryman, greeted them with his usual inarticulate grunt, a kind of "Oh,
here you are again, are you!" form of welcome which was more forceful
than gracious. He linked the protecting chains carefully across the end
of the boat, called out a remark in Welsh to his son, Griffith, and,
seizing the handle, began to work the windlass. Very slowly and
leisurely the flat swung out into the river. The tide was at the full
and the wide expanse of water seemed like a lake. The clanking chains
brought up bunches of seaweed and river grass which fell with an oozy
thud upon the deck. The mountain air, blowing straight from Penllwyd,
was tinged with ozone from the tide. The girls stood looking up the
reach of water towards the hills, and tasting the salt on their lips
with supreme gratification. It was not every school that assembled by
such a romantic means of conveyance as an ancient flat-bottomed
ferry-boat, and they rejoiced over their privileges.

"I'm glad the tide's full; it makes the crossin