A little girl stood at the door, still describing rainbows from her forehead; but scarce had Ellen asked her where the grocer's was when there came up at a half run Howell Gruffydd himself, the keeper of the single shop of the place. He was in his shirt-sleeves, wore an old bowler hat, and wiped his hands on the coarse, white apron about his middle. Over his glasses Edward Garden watched his approach, but he did not speak. It was not anger that kept him silent. Already he had accepted _fait accompli_--or in this case _inaccompli_. Howell Gruffydd broke into sunny smiles of welcome. "How d'you do, Mr. Garden? So you have arrived? How d'you do, madam? How d'you do, miss? You had a pless-sant journey?" He beamed on each of them, and then beamed on them again. "Do you know where Dafydd Dafis is?" Mr. Garden asked once more. "Indeed I do not, Mr. Garden. Perhaps he maake fenss for Squire Wynne. Perhaps he fiss." Then Howell Gruffydd's eyes fell on the boards as if he had not noticed them before. He gave a heartfelt "Aw-w-w!" "It is not finiss! Dear me, dear me! Hwhat a pitt-ty!" Then he became cheerfully explanatory. "That will be old Mrs. Pritchard--Dafydd Dafis he that fond of her as if she wass his own fless and blood. She iss nine-ty, and for two weeks they have prayers for her in the chap-pil, and Doctor Williams, he come from Porth Neigr, and that is five s'illing, but the pains in her body was soa bad she not know hwhat to dooa!--And it was good fiss-ing these three weeks and more--and the man who bring the boards, he say they well season, but it do them no harm to wait a little while longer----" Mr. Garden's eyes were still looking over his glasses. "Then is he going to let them season for ever?" he said. Howell Gruffydd smiled soothingly.--"Naw-w-w! Not for ev-er, Mr. Garden!" "It's a good job he hasn't got to get his living in Manchester," Mr. Garden observed. At that Howell Gruffydd clasped his hands, as if he congratulated himself that an interesting rumour was confirmed. "Indeed, now," he said, "they do say that the pip-ple there is not the same as the pip-ple here!" At this point Mrs. Garden's voice was raised. She was on her knees by the boxes, and could not find the sugar for tea. At the word "tea," Howell Gruffydd broke out with eager hospitality. "Indeed it is cup of tea I came about," he said. "I say to Mrs. Gruffydd, 'They come all this way,' I say, 'and they will be want-ting cup of tea whatever.' It is all ready ... Eesaac Oliver!"--he called from the doorway--"run to your mother, and say we be there in one minnit! And do not answer me in Welss when there are pip-ple who do not understand it--where are your manners, indeed!" He turned to the new-comers again. "You s'all have cup of tea whatever, Mrs. Garden--it cost you noth-thing--and the young gentleman, he is down at the boats, but Eesaac Oliver s'all fetch him--come on----"