he men-servants, for Will never goes to the cynos;
he doesn't like farm work, and now he's studying so hard and all
'twould be foolish for him to sit up all night."

"I will be there, whatever," said Gethin.

"Wilt indeed?" and a glow of pleasure suffused her face. "There's
going to be fun there, they say, for Jacob the miller is going to ask
Neddy 'Pandy' to dance the 'candle dance,' and Robin Davies the sailor
will play the fiddle for him. Hast ever seen the candle dance?"

"No," said Gethin, his black eyes fixed on the girl's beautiful face,
which filled his mind to the exclusion of what she was saying.

"'Tis gone out of fashion long ago, but Jacob the miller likes to keep
up the old ways."

"The candle dance," said Gethin absently, "what is it like?"

"Well, indeed," said Morva, shyly bending her head under his ardent
gaze, "thee wilt see for thyself; I have dropped a stitch."

A long silence followed while the stitch was recovered, and the furze
blossoms came dropping into her lap, into her hair, and on to her neck.
She laughed at last, and sprang up tossing them all to the ground.

"The calves! the calves!" she cried, and once more both ran in pursuit
of the wilful creatures.

So simple a life, so void of all that is supposed to make life
interesting, and yet so full of love and health and happiness that the
memory of it was impressed upon the minds of both for the rest of their
lives. Yes, even in old age they called it to mind with a pensive
tenderness, and a lingering longing, and the words, "There's happy we
were long ago on the Garthowen slopes!"

Before he went to market in the morning Will had sought out Morva as
she sat on her milking-stool, leaning her head on Daisy's flank, and
milking her to the old refrain:

"Troodi, Troodi! come down from the mountain!
Troodi, Troodi! come up from the dale!"

"I want to see thee, Morva; wilt meet me beyond the Cribserth to-night?
'Twill be moonlight. I will wait for thee behind the broom bushes on
the edge of the cliff."

"Yes, I will come."

Will was looking his best, a new suit of clothes made by a Caer-Madoc
tailor, the first of the kind he had ever had, set off his handsome
figure to advantage, his hat pushed back showed the clumps of red gold
hair, the blue eyes, and the mouth with its curves of Cupid's bow.
Yes; certainly Will was a handsome man.

"There's smart thou art," said Morva, with a mischievous smile.

"'Tis my new suit; t