At last one sunny morning Tom Jenkins came in with a whoop.

"The _Gwenllian_ is in the docks!" he cried, and Sara prepared at once
for another expedition in that direction.

"Wait a bit," said Mrs. Jones. "You can write, Sara?"

"Yes, in Welsh," said the old woman.

"Well, then, send a letter, and Tom will take it for you."

Sara took her advice, and, putting on her spectacles, wrote as follows:


"Sara Lloyd, Garthowen Moor, is writing to thee, Gethin Owens, to say
she is here at Mrs. Jones's, No. 2 Bryn Street, with good news for
thee. All the way from Garthowen to fetch thee, my boy, so come as
soon as thou canst."


The writing was large and sprawly, it was addressed to "Gethin Owens,
mate of the _Gwenllian_,--Captain Price," and when Tom had departed,
with the letter safe in his jacket pocket, the two women set themselves
to wait as patiently as they could; but the hours dragged on heavily
until tea-time.

"Gethin was fond of his tea," said Mrs. Jones, "and I wouldn't wonder
if he'd be here before long."