"Well, I'll never make her cry again," said Gethin. "Art going at once, lass? Wilt not sit here and have tea with us?" and he drew his coat, which he had taken off for his work, toward her, and spread it on the hedge side. Morva laughed shyly; she was not used to such attentions. "No, indeed, I must go," she answered; "we are preparing supper." As she followed Ann through the gap Gethin looked after her with a smile in his eyes. "There's bonnie flowers growing on the slopes of Garthowen, and no mistake," he said. Will examined the edge of his sickle and did not answer. Later on, when the harvest supper was over, and the last brawny reaper had filed out of the farmyard in the soft evening twilight, the Garthowen household dropped in one by one to the best kitchen, where their own meals were generally partaken of. Ebben Owens himself, as often as not, took his with the servants, but Will, especially of late, preferred to join Ann and Gwilym Morris in the best kitchen or hall. Here they were seated to-night, a glowing fire of culm balls filling the large grate, and throwing a light which was but little helped by the home-made dip standing in a brass candlestick on the middle of the table, round which they were all gathered while Gethin displayed his presents. "Here's a tie for you, father; green it is, with red spots; would you like it?" "Ts-ts!" said the old man, "it has just come in time, lad, for me to wear on Sunday when I go to hear Will reading in church." "That will be a proud day for you, father; I will go with you. And for thee, Will, here's a knife. I remember how fond thee wast of the old knife we bought in the fair together." "Well, indeed!" said Will, clasping and unclasping the blades; "'tis a splendid one, too, and here's a fine blade to mend pens with!" "And for Ann," continued Gethen, "I have only a hymn-book." "What couldst thou bring me better? And look at the cover! So good. And the gold edges! And Welsh! I will be proud of it." "Yes," said Gethin; "I bought it in Liverpool in a shop where they sell Welsh books. And for you, sir," he said, turning to Gwilym Morris. "'Sir,'" said the preacher, laughing; "Gethin bach, this is the second time you have called me 'sir.' Drop it, man, or I will be offended." "Well! I won't say it again. Dei anwl! I will have to be on my best behaviour here, with a parson and a preacher in the house! Well! it's a pocket-book for you, I thought very like, being a preacher, you would like to put down a word sometimes." "Quite right, indeed," said Gwilym Morris; "and look at my old one, barely hanging together it is!" At the bottom of the bag from which Gethin drew his treasures, lay the little painted box containing Morva's necklace. "Where's Morva?" he asked. "I've got something for her, too." "Oh, well," said Will, "thou art a generous man and a rich, I should think! Perhaps thou hast one for Dyc 'pigstye' and Sara ''spridion' too."