CHAPTER IV

LLANGASTANAU

"O good old man; how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world."
(As You Like It.)

1

ON a dreary day in October I had to visit one of the remote villages high up in the moorland district. The wind howled, and the rain beat down pitilessly, as my Welsh-car jolted me, and swayed me to Llangastanau Rectory, where I had been invited to spend the night. I was by no means sure of comfortable quarters, for I had never seen my host : his invitation came through my chief. But the alternative course, a long drive in the early morning to the parish school, was still less attractive, and I made up my mind to take college port, or buttermilk, as the case might be.

When the car turned off the bleak road into a sheltered drive leading up to a solid-looking house, with gleams of light in the windows, and smoke issuing from several chimneys, my spirits rose and when I saw the neat-handed Phyllis at the door, and behind her a scholarly, yet sociable face beaming over a well-lined waistcoat, I felt that I was in for a good thing: the

1 Llangastanau: Castanau is the Welsh for chestnuts: I cannot imagine how the parish got its name. I saw no chestnuts, and I ought

to know one.

lot had fallen unto me in a fair ground. There was no Mrs. Rector-there is much to be said for celibacy of the clergy—and we made our way to a library with a bright leaping fire of logs, and the most admirable furniture that a library can have, two arm chairs, a long table, and three walls full of books. As for seats other than the arm chairs, one remembers the remark of was it not the visitor to Charles Lamb?" all the seats were booked." On each chair was a pile of volumes taken down from the shelves, and not replaced: so free and careless is the celibate life. But Phyllis Jones eyed them scornfully as she passed, and during dinner they were all "put back" where Phyllis thought they would fit in. Even the celibate life is not all free.

My bedroom was equally enticing. Is it wicked to enjoy hearing the wind moan, and the rain beat against the windows, when you have a good fire burning in the grate, and there are RED CURTAINS to the windows, reflecting the glow? I never see red curtains without thinking of that wild night.

Before leaving me to dress, my host informed me of Rule 1 of the house: "Smoking is allowed in every room in the house, except the drawing-room;" and I had a delicious pipe and a snooze before dinner.

On reaching the drawing-room aforesaid I was told whom I should meet. First, there was the Squire-who, by-the-bye, had wanted to have me at the Hall, but the Rector would not hear of it, "though he was painfully well aware that I should be far more comfortable there." (Laughter and dissent.) The Squire, John Trevor, had been the Rector's pupil at Oxford; they had kept up their friendship, and the Squire had given him the living ; one of the best fellows in the world. With the Squire

would come David Williams, Vicar of Llanbedr, formerly at a public-school with the Squire. At Oxford they had parted; David had been tempted by a Welsh scholarship to Jesus College; the Squire and my host were at St. Peter's. David was another of the best fellows in the world, and also one of the most humorous.

Thirdly, Mr. Morgan, the Rector of Llanfair-castanwydd-uwch-y-mynydd, which I might call Llanfair for short, was coming, because he really wanted to see me about his School Board; a most worthy man, and an eminent bard and philologian. Men called him The Druid. And lastly, might he introduce his nephew, Harry, formerly a scholar of St. Peter's, and now, after taking a degree that satisfied even the President, much engaged in developing the Squire's slate-quarries. The Rector added no praises of Harry, but it was sufficiently plain that the nephew was the apple of the uncle's eye. And a more charming "rosy-cheeked apple " I never saw.

Had Harry got up the wine as directed? Yes, he had; and in a low voice he recounted his auxiliary forces. There were, he said doubtfully, two of No. 6. Who was coming with the Squire? What Dafydd Nantgwyn? Ah-h. And he turned to me. Did I know Mr. Williams, Vicar of Llanbedr?

replied that I had met him officially. Why did he call him by some other name?

"What, David Nantgwyn? Don't you know the story? Do you know Nantgwyn Junction, where you change trains, if you want to go to Llanfihangel, you know?"

I admitted so much.

Well, you remember, the train waits there for six minutes, while the engine runs on to Llanfihangel with one carriage to pick up passengers, and brings them back.

to hook on to the train at Nant. There is no refreshment room at Nant Station, but the wary traveller with a thirst knows that there is just time to run 250 yards to the 'Black Lion,' to get a glass of beer, to drink it, and to run back to catch the train. David was there last month. He was wary, and thirsty; and he ran to the Lion,' and shouted Glass of beer, please, Mary bach'; but a bagman had outstripped him, and had already ordered his beer. So just as David spoke, the bagman's beer was served. David banged down his twopence and drank the bagman's beer joyfully. 'Sir,' said the bagman, 'that was my beer.' By that time Mary had drawn David's beer and had put it in front of him.

"Was it?' said David; then this is mine.' And he drank that too. The engine whistle was heard in the distance, and they both had to nip back to the station. David was triumphant, and now they call him Dafydd Nantgwyn. Here he comes."

The Squire arrived with his guest. I was introduced. The Squire looked doubtfully at me, and formally gretted that he had been unable to have the honour of entertaining me. Warming a little, he added that he had heard dreadful things of me. Was I not engaged in forming School Boards everywhere? What was to become of the farmers when the rates went up again?

I laughed, and threw the responsibility on the Education Department. I was only a servant.

But he had also heard that I had said at dinner in Carnarvonshire that if a man had more than a certain income, the balance should be given to the Exchequer. He was glad to find that I had named £50,000 a year, which left him untouched; but it was a dangerous

doctrine.

I dimly remembered some such obiter dictum at some one's house, but this was, I think, the first time in my life that I had heard of any importance being attached to a remark of mine. In the smoking-room at the Club, in chambers at the Temple, or at Bar Mess, one might propose the confiscation of Grosvenor Square for the benefit of briefless barristers, and no one would object; nay, much advice as to details would be offered. It seemed that an Inspector of Returns must weigh his words. Official life has its drawbacks.

While I was thus musing the Rector of Llanfair was announced, and our party was complete. A little man, round, quick in eye and movement, and with that "tip-tilted" nose which is sure evidence of enjoyment of a joke. Friar Tuck with the accent of Sir Hugh Evans of Windsor.

I forgot to say that "David Nantgwyn" had greeted me as an old friend. I had lunched with him at Llanbedr, when I visited his parish; and had laughed at his Welsh stories till I could laugh no more. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. Alas, poor Yorick! What was he doing in that galley?

We went in to dinner, and as I passed by I heard Harry mutter to David, "Sut yma Dafydd Nantgwyn?" (How is David of Nantgwyn?) and there was a scuffle.

It is good to dine at Llangastanau. The trout came out of the burn; the Welsh mutton was a native growth; the game, if I may judge from a smile passing from host to squire, came from the Hall. The port was from the college cellars, and St. Peter's has a reputation. These delicacies, or the like, might be got in London; but David and the Druid were local and priceless: it did one