the valley by the shore. He had lived at Garthowen for many years as
one of the family, being the son of an old friend of Ebben Owens.
Having a small--very small--income of his own, he was able to devote
his services to the chapel in the valley, expecting and receiving
nothing in return but a pittance, for which no other minister would
have been willing to work. He was a dark, pale man, of earnest and
studious appearance, of quiet manners, and rather silent, but often
seeking the liquid brown eyes which lighted up Ann's gentle face.

"Tis the only time father is cross when he has lost his 'bacco box,"
said Ann, laughing; "but then he is as cross as two sticks."

"Lol! lol!" said the old man snappishly, "give me a cup of tea; but I
can't think where my 'bacco box is. I swear I left it here on the
table."

Gwilym Morris hunted about in the most unlikely places, as men
generally do--on the tea tray, between the leaves of some newspapers
which stood on the deep window-sill. He was about to open Ann's
work-bag in search of it, when Morva entered panting, and placed the
shining box and ball of red wool on the table.

"Good, my daughter," said Ebben Owens, pocketing his new-found
treasure, and regaining his good temper at once.

"I saw it was empty, so I took it with me to Jos Hughes's shop," she
said.

Soon afterwards, seated on her milking stool, she was singing to the
rhythm of the milk as it streamed into the frothing pail, for Daisy