214 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



that one of these strong- faced Welshmen extended 

 a cordial invitation to be his guest when, later on, 

 Dr. W. should visit his native town. So it came 

 to pass that after the great meetings in London 

 were over, we started for the little village of 

 Garndolbenmaen where Dr. W. was born and had 

 spent his earlier years. 



We had counted not a little on making the ascent 

 of Snowdon, and in spite of the cloudy, threaten- 

 ing weather, ascend it we did. Boarding the toy- 

 like car on the little narrow-gauge road, we were 

 slowly hauled up the mountain side. We had hardly 

 begun the ascent when the country about began to 

 unroll like a panorama below us. Yonder is a 

 thread-like stream, and beyond it the mines with 

 their piles of slack marking each opening. Higher 

 up, the clouds were all about us, shutting out every- 

 thing but the immediate vicinity, and before we 

 reached the summit, rain had begun to fall. The 

 only relief to our disappointment was when, for 

 a moment, the clouds broke and we looked far over 

 mountains and valleys. Down at our feet and 

 leading away towards the east was a white road on 

 either side of which were little squares of cultivated 

 fields. Towards the south loomed the tops of high 

 hills, the sides of which were hidden by the clouds, 

 while towards the west we caught just a glimpse 

 of the Straits of Menna. 



A little later we were riding along the shores of 

 the Straits and looking across to Anglesea. To 



