And in a clear, sweet voice she joined the birds, and woke the echoes
from the brown cliffs. The tune was quaint and rapid; both it and the
words had come down to her with the old folklore of generations passed
away.

"Over the sea from the end of the wide world
I've come without wetting my feet, my feet, my feet,
Back to the old home, straight to the nest-home,
Under the brown thatch, oh sweet! oh sweet! oh sweet!

"When over the waters I flew in the autumn,
Then there was plenty of seed, of seed, of seed.
Women have winnow'd it, threshers have garner'd it,
Barns must be filled up indeed, indeed, indeed!

"Are you glad we have come with a flitter and twitter
Once more on the housetop to meet, to meet, to meet?
Make haste little primroses, cowslips, and daisies, we're
Longing your faces to greet, to greet, to greet!"

--_Trans._

"Yes, that's what you are singing. Good-bye," and waving her hand
towards them again, she turned her face to the boggy moor, picking her
way over the stepping-stones which led up to the dryer sheep paths.

The golden marsh marigolds glittered around her, the beautiful bog bean
hung its pinky white fringe over the brown peat pools, the silky plumes
of the cotton grass nodded at her as she passed, and the wind whispered
in the rushes the secrets of the sea.

Morva listened with a smile, a brown finger up-raised. "Yes, yes, I
know what you are singing too down there in the rushes, sweet west
wind," she said. "Sara has told me, but I haven't time to sing the
'wind song' to-day," and reaching the sheep path which led round the
mountain, she sped against the wind, her hair streaming behind her, her
blue skirt fluttering in the breeze, the ball of scarlet worsted and
the shining 'bacco box held high in either hand to steady her flying
footsteps, Tudor barking with joy as he bounded after her and twitched
at her fluttering skirts.

It was tea-time when she reached Garthowen, and, winter or summer, that
was always the pleasantest hour at the farmstead, when the air was
filled with the aroma of the hot tea, and the laughter and talk of the
household. On the settle in the cosy chimney corner sat Ebben Owens
himself, the head of the family and the centre of interest to every
member of it. He possessed that doubtful advantage, the power of
attracting to himself the affection and friendship of everyone who came
in contact with him; his children idolised him,