he.

"No," I replied, "I'm going on foot."

"On foot!" said he; "I would not go on foot there this night for fifty
pounds."

"Why not?" said I.

"For fear of being knocked down by the colliers, who will be all out and
drunk."

"If not more than two attack me," said I, "I shan't much mind. With this
book I am sure I can knock down one, and I think I can find play for the
other with my fists."

The commercial traveller looked at me. "A strange kind of Baptist
minister," I thought I heard him say.

CHAPTER LXII

Rhiwabon Road--The Public-house Keeper--No Welsh--The Wrong Road--The
Good Wife.

I paid my reckoning and started. The night was now rapidly closing in.
I passed the toll-gate and hurried along the Rhiwabon road, overtaking
companies of Welsh going home, amongst whom were many individuals, whom,
from their thick and confused speech, as well as from their staggering
gait, I judged to be intoxicated. As I passed a red public-house on my
right hand, at the door of which stood several carts, a scream of Welsh
issued from it.

"Let any Saxon," said I, "who is fond of fighting and wishes for a bloody
nose go in there."

Coming to the small village about a mile from Rhiwabon, I felt thirsty,
and seeing a public-house, in which all seemed to be quiet, I went in. A
thick-set man with a pipe in his mouth sat in the tap-room, and also a
woman.

"Where is the landlord?" said I.

"I am the landlord," said the man, huskily. "What do you want?"

"A pint of ale," said I.

The man got up and with his pipe in his mouth went staggering out of the
room. In about a minute he returned holding a mug in his hand, which he
put down on a table before me, spilling no slight quantity of the liquor
as he did so. I put down three-pence on the table. He took the money up
slowly piece by piece, looked at it and appeared to consider, then taking
the pipe out of his mouth he dashed it to seven pieces against the table,
then staggered out of the room into the passage, and from thence
apparently out of the house. I tasted the ale which was very good, then
turning to the woman who seemed about three-and-twenty and was rather
good-looking, I spoke to her in Welsh.

"I have no Welsh, sir," said she.

"How is that?" said I; "this village is I think in the Welshery."

"It is," said she, "but I am from Shropshire."

"Are you the mistress of the house?" said I.

"No," said she, "I am married to a collier;" then