is it English or Welsh?" said Ebben Owens, opening it with
trembling fingers. "Oh! 'tis Welsh, so read thou to me. My glasses
are not suiting me so well as they were."

The truth was, he was too nervous to read the letter himself, a fact
which Morva quite comprehended.

"MY DEAR FATHER," began Will, "I daresay you are expecting to hear from
me, but I have had a good deal to do since we returned from our wedding
tour. The contents of this letter will surprise you, I am sure, but I
hope they will please you too. We are very happy in our new home, and
my uncle, though living under the same roof with us, is very kind and
considerate, and never interferes with our plans. He seems very fond
of Gwenda, and it would be strange if he were not, for she is as good
as she is beautiful. The church here is filled with a large
congregation, and they seem to appreciate my ministrations thoroughly.
There is, I am glad to say, very little dissent in the parish. You
know I never liked dissent, but Gwenda is broader in her views, and
wants to convert me to her way of thinking. Now this letter is really
more a message from her than from me. She wants to know if you will
have us at the farm for a week or a fortnight, when the spring is a
little more advanced. She wants to see the moor when the gorse is in
blossom. She would like to know you more intimately, she says, and
would enjoy nothing more than a taste of real farm life; she therefore
begs, that if you can have us you will not make any alteration in your
ways of living. She sends her love to Ann, and hopes she will put up
with her for a little while. If you will let us know when it will be
convenient to you, we will fix a time to come to Garthowen. I remain,
dear father,

"Your affectionate son,

"WILLIAM OWEN."

Ebben Owens had been gradually growing more excited, and at the last
word said with a gasp:

"He has forgotten my confession, Morva; I am of no consequence to him!"

"Yes--yes," said the girl, "here's another half sheet with 'P.S.' at
the top," and she continued to read:

"Dear father, Gwenda was looking over my shoulder, so I could not add
what I say now. Please ask Ann to put the best knives and forks on the
table, and to bring out mother's silver teapot when we come. I forgot
to refer to the contents of your last letter. You make too much of
your fault, dear father, you have made a cornstack of a barleymow. I
am only sorry you have pu