moved the beehive chair into a cosy corner beside the fire for the
young master, the men-servants all tugged their forelocks, and the
women rose to make a smiling bob-curtsey.

"Have some cawl,[2] Ser!" said Betto, selecting a shining black bowl
and spoon.

"Not to-night, after all that fried ham; but another night I want
nothing better for supper."

"Well, there's nothing will beat cawl, that's certain," said Ebben, the
head servant, beginning with long-drawn noisy sups to empty his own
bowl.

"Finished the turnips to-day?" asked Cardo.

"Oh, yes," said Ebben, with a slight tone of reproof in his voice; "the
work goes on though you may not be at home, Ser. I consider there is
no piece of land on this earth, no, nor on any other earth, better
farmed than Brynderyn. Eh?" and he looked defiantly at Betto, between
whom and himself there was a continual war of words.

"Well, I suppose so, indeed," said Betto; "_you_ say so often enough,
whatever, and what you say must be right."

There was such an insidious mixture of flattery and sarcasm in her
words that, for a moment Ebben was at a loss what to answer, so Malen,
the milkmaid, took the opportunity of changing the subject.

"There's tons of bread will be baked on Monday," she said, "ready for