In the afternoon Gethin insisted upon taking his sickle to the cornfield, and although the work was new to him his brawny arm soon made an impression on the standing corn. The field was full of laughter and talk, the sweet autumn air was laden with the scent of the blackberries and honeysuckle in the hedges, and the work went on with a will until, at four o'clock, the reapers took a rest, sitting on the sunny hedge sides.

Through the gap Ann and Morva appeared, bringing the welcome basket of tea. Gethin hurried towards them, relieving them of the heavy basket which they were carrying between them.

"Thee'll have enough to do if thee'st going to help the women folk here," said Will.

"He's been in foreign parts," said a reaper, "and learnt manners, ye see."

"Yes," said another, "that polish will soon wear off."

"Well, caton pawb!" said Gethin, "manners or no manners, man, I never could sit still and see a woman, foreign or Welsh, carry a heavy load without helping her."

The two girls spread the refreshing viands on the gra.s.s, and with merry repartee answered the jokes of the hungry reapers.

"'Twill be a jolly supper to-night, Miss Ann; we'll expect the 'fatted calf,'" said one.

"Well, you'll get it," replied Ann; "'tis veal in the cawl, whatever."

"Hast seen Gethin before?" said Will to Morva, observing there was no greeting between them.

"Well, yes," answered the girl, blushing a rosy red under her sunbonnet; "wasn't it at our cottage he slept last night? and indeed there's glad mother was to see him."

"And thee ought to be too," said one of the reapers, "for I'll never forget how thee cried the day he ran away."

"Well, I'll never make her cry again," said Gethin. "Art going at once, la.s.s? Wilt not sit here and have tea with us?" and he drew his coat, which he had taken off for his work, toward her, and spread it on the hedge side.

Morva laughed shyly; she was not used to such attentions.

"No, indeed, I must go," she answered; "we are preparing supper."

As she followed Ann through the gap Gethin looked after her with a smile in his eyes.

"There's bonnie flowers growing on the slopes of Garthowen, and no mistake," he said.

Will examined the edge of his sickle and did not answer.

Later on, when the harvest supper was over, and the last brawny reaper had filed out of the farmyard in the soft evening twilight, the Garthowen household dropped in one by one to the best kitchen, where their own meals were generally partaken of. Ebben Owens himself, as often as not, took his with the servants, but Will, especially of late, preferred to join Ann and Gwilym Morris in the best kitchen or hall.

Here they were seated to-night, a glowing fire of culm b.a.l.l.s filling the large grate, and throwing a light which was but little helped by the home-made dip standing in a bra.s.s candlestick on the middle of the table, round which they were all gathered while Gethin displayed his presents.

"Here's a tie for you, father; green it is, with red spots; would you like it?"

"Ts-ts!" said the old man, "it has just come in time, lad, for me to wear on Sunday when I go to hear Will reading in church."

"That will be a proud day for you, father; I will go with you. And for thee, Will, here's a knife. I remember how fond thee wast of the old knife we bought in the fair together."

"Well, indeed!" said Will, clasping and unclasping the blades; "'tis a splendid one, too, and here's a fine blade to mend pens with!"

"And for Ann," continued Gethen, "I have only a hymn-book."

"What couldst thou bring me better? And look at the cover! So good.

And the gold edges! And Welsh! I will be proud of it."

"Yes," said Gethin; "I bought it in Liverpool in a shop where they sell Welsh books. And for you, sir," he said, turning to Gwilym Morris.

"'Sir,'" said the preacher, laughing; "Gethin bach, this is the second time you have called me 'sir.' Drop it, man, or I will be offended."

"Well! I won't say it again. Dei anwl! I will have to be on my best behaviour here, with a parson and a preacher in the house! Well! it's a pocket-book for you, I thought very like, being a preacher, you would like to put down a word sometimes."

"Quite right, indeed," said Gwilym Morris; "and look at my old one, barely hanging together it is!"

At the bottom of the bag from which Gethin drew his treasures, lay the little painted box containing Morva's necklace.

"Where's Morva?" he asked. "I've got something for her, too."

"Oh, well," said Will, "thou art a generous man and a rich, I should think! Perhaps thou hast one for Dyc 'pigstye' and Sara ''spridion'

too."

"Dyc 'pigstye'; no! But Sara, indeed I'm sorry I didn't remember her, whatever."

"I hear Morva's voice in the yard. Will I call her in?" said Ann, and she tapped at the little side window.

"No, no," said Gethin, "I will take it to her," and he went out, carrying the gaudy box in his hand.

"Morva!" he called, and under the elder tree, where she was counting the chickens at roost on its branches, the girl stood facing him, the rising moon shining full upon her. "Morva, la.s.s," he said, drawing near; "'tis the present I told thee of. Wilt have it?" and there was a diffident tremor in his voice, which was not its usual tone; for to-night he was as shy as a schoolboy as he opened the box and drew out the shining necklace. The iridescent colours gleamed in the moonlight and Morva exclaimed in admiration:

"Oh, anwl! is that for me?"

"Yes, for thee, la.s.s; for who else?" said Gethin. "Let me fasten it on for thee. 'Tis a tiresome clasp," and as she bent her shapely neck and his fingers touched it for a moment, she gently drew further away.

"Dost like them?" said Gethin, looking from the shining sh.e.l.ls to the glowing face above them.

"Oh, they are beautiful!" she answered, feeling them with her fingers.

"I will go in and show them to Ann. I haven't said 'thank you,' but I do thank thee indeed, Gethin;" and he followed her into the "hall,"

where the glowing light from the fire and the candle fell on the changing glitter of the sh.e.l.ls.

"Oh, there's beautiful!" said Ann. "Come near, Morva, and let me look at them. Well, indeed, they are fit for a lady."

"Thee must have paid a lot for that," said Ebben Owens, rather reproachfully.

"Not much indeed, father, but I wasn't going to forget my little playfellow, whatever."

"No, no, my boy, that was quite right," said the old man; and Will too tried to smile and admire, but there was a flush of vexation on his face which did not escape Morva's notice.

"I must go now," she said, a little shadow falling over her.

"Let me loosen the clasp for thee," said Gethin; but Morva, remembering the touch of the brown fingers, quickly reached the door.

"No--no, I must show them to mother."