beautiful scene before her--the woods, hills, river, and above, the
morning sun--and offered up a prayer and thanksgiving to the Giver of
all good things. Her thoughtful face brightened into a smile, and her
walk became more brisk as she left her garden, and went again into the
farm-yard.

The cow-man was bringing up the cows to be milked, and he looked
astonished as he greeted his mistress. So did the two ruddy, disheveled
farm maidens, who had barely turned out of their beds to milk the cows,
and had paid small attention either to their toilet or ablutions.

The house was perfectly quiet as she entered it, and she crept upstairs,
and into her bedroom very softly, for fear of disturbing any one.

'Where in the world have you been, my dear?' greeted her, in a gruff
voice from amongst the bed-clothes, that covered a large old-fashioned
bed, hung with chintz curtains.

'Go to sleep and don't trouble, Davy, _bach'_, [Footnote A Welsh term of
endearment, equivalent to 'dear,' pronounced like the German.] quietly
replied the brisk little dame.

'Go to sleep, indeed! Easier said than done, when one wakes up in a
fright, and finds you gone, nobody knows where. Now where _have_ you
been? You 'ont let one sleep, even of a Sunday morning.'

'Well, now, don't get into a passion, my dear--I mean, don't be angry.'

'What have I to be angry about when I don't know what you've been
doing?'