call here
and ask if you would let me rest awhile."

"Oh, certainly! Come in," said Ann, holding out her hand, which Gwenda
took warmly.

"Miss Owen, I suppose?"

"I was Ann Owens," she said, blushing. "I am Mrs. Gwilym Morris now
these three years. This is my little boy," she added, as a chubby,
curly-headed child toddled towards her. She had already opened the
door of the best kitchen. "There is no fire in the parlour," she
apologised, "or I would take you there."

"Oh, no; please let me come to your usual sitting-room. Is this your
father?"

And she held out her hand again. There was something in her face that
always ensured its own welcome.

"Yes, I am Ebben Owens," said the old man, "and very glad to see you,
though I not know who you are."

"I am Gwenda Vaughan of Nantmyny, come to ask if you will let me rest
awhile. I have been out with the fox-hounds; we have had a long run,
and I am so tired."

She had no other excuse to give for her inroad upon their hearth; but
in Wales no excuse is required for a call.

"Well, indeed," said the old man, rubbing his knees with pleasure,
"there's a good thing now, you come just in time for tea. I think I
have heard your name, but I not know where. Oh, yes. I remember now;
'twas you the bull was running after in the market, and my boy Will
stop it; 'twas good thing, indeed, you may be kill very well!"

Gwenda stopped to pat Tudor to hide the blush that rose to her cheek as
she answered:

"Yes, indeed, and of course we were very grateful to him!"

"Oh, yes; he's very good fellow. Will you take off your hat? 'Tis not
often we're having visitors here, so we are very glad when anybody is
come."

"I was afraid, perhaps, I was taking rather a liberty," said Gwenda,
laying her hat and gloves aside, "but you are all so kind, you make me
feel quite at home."

"That's right," said the old man; "there's a pity now, my son-in-law,
Gwilym Morris, is not at home. He was go to Castell On to-day to some
meeting there. What was it? Let me see--some hard English word."

"I can speak Welsh," said Gwenda, turning to that language.

"Oh! wel din!" said the old man, relieved, and continuing in Welsh,
"'tisn't every lady can speak her native language nowadays."

"No. I am ashamed of my countrywomen, though I speak it very badly
myself," said Gwenda.

"There's my son Will now, indeed I'm afraid he will soon forget his
Welsh, he is speaking English so easy and