the sunshine in earnest conversation, held her finger up reprovingly,
and begged them to come in to breakfast.

"Oh, stop, 'n'wncwl Ebben, and have breakfast with us. Uwd it is, and
fresh milk from Garthowen."

"No, no, child," said the old man, rising. "Ann will be waiting for
me; I must go at once."

"Well indeed, she was laying the breakfast. She doesn't want me
to-day, she says, so I am stopping at home with mother to weed the
garden."

And as Ebben Owens trudged homewards, her happy voice followed him,
breaking clear on the morning air as she sang in the joy other heart:

"Troodie! Troodie! come down from the mountain;
Troodie! Troodie! come up from the dale;
Moelen and Corwen, and Blodwen and Trodwen,
I'll meet you all with my milking-pail!"

The echo of it brought a pleased smile to the old man's lips, as he
neared his home and left the clear singing behind him.

The day had broadened to noontide, and had passed into late afternoon,
when Gethin Owens once more crept round the Cribserth. He crept,
because he heard the sound of Morva's voice, and he would come upon her
unawares--would see the sudden start, the shy surprise, the pink blush
rising to the temples; so he stole from the pathway and crept along
behind the broom bushes, watching through their interlacing branches