And she pulled the old farmer into the middle of the room as she spoke, whilst he, well pleased at her audacity and good spirits, allowed himself to be turned and twisted at the will of his handsome daughter, who flew up and down the dance as if she had never had a care or a sorrow in her life. Hugh Owen sat by and watched her with troubled, anxious eyes. He almost regretted at that moment that his chosen vocation forbade his joining in the festivities before him. He would have given a good deal to have had his arm round his old sweetheart’s waist and danced hand in hand with her to the merry tune his father played with so much spirit. Mrs Llewellyn, though still on hospitable cares intent, and engaged at the sideboard with currant and orange wine and queen cakes, was delighted to watch the antics of her daughters as they beat time with their flying feet to the strains of “Yankee Doodle,” but her pleasure was somewhat tempered by anxiety lest Nell should fatigue herself too much after her long journey. ‘There, there, my lass,’ she remonstrated, as she heard her urging Mr Owen to play them another country dance, ‘you mustn’t forget you have come off a tiring journey, and haven’t eaten a morsel since you entered the house. You ought to be in bed, my Nell, instead of cutting such jinks. I shall have you ill to-morrow if you don’t take care.’ ‘Ill? Tired?’ cried Nell. ‘Fiddle-de-dee, mother; no such thing. I shall be up at cock-crow to see after the hens and chickens, or to have a ride on Kitty. How’s the dear old mare, father?’ ‘Old Kitty, my lass?’ replied Farmer Llewellyn. ‘Why, she’s been dead the best part of a year. Surely your mother or Hetty told you that. You must have forgotten it, Nell.’ A shade came over the young woman’s laughing face. ‘Old Kitty dead,’ she murmured in a subdued voice. ‘Dear old Kitty, that I used to ride astride when I was in short frocks. Oh, I _am_ sorry. No one told me, I am sure. I couldn’t have forgotten it. I loved old Kitty so well. She was part of home to me.’ ‘Ah, my girl,’ said her father, ‘if the old mare is the only thing you’ve forgotten in Usk you’ve no call to blame yourself. I’ve been sometimes afraid that your grand ways and friends up in London might make you too fine for Panty-cuckoo Farm, but it don’t seem so now. They’ve made a lady of you, Nell; but not too fine a one to forget the old folks at home. Thank God for that! You won’t look down on your mother and sister because their ways of speaking are not so grand as what you’ve been accustomed to hear, nor despise them and the old farm if we can’t give you as many luxuries as you get in your fine place in London.’