there
was peace over the devouring of the bread, which was eaten in bits
thrown at him from a couple of yards away, and caught without fail.

After this performance the fish was placed in a pan; and as the dog bent
down to eat, Gwyn pulled his ears, thumped his back, sat astride it and
talked to the animal.

"You're going to be shot at if you go into the garden again, Grip; so
look out, old chap. Do you hear?"

The dog was too busy over the fish, but wagged his tail.

"I'm to keep you chained up more, but we'll have some games over the
moor yet--rabbits!"

The fish was forgotten, and the dog threw up his head and barked.

"There, go on with your breakfast, stupid! I'm off."

"How-ow!" whined the dog, dismally, and he kept it up, straining at his
chain till the boy was out of sight, when the animal stood with an ear
cocked up and his head on one side, listening intently till the steps
died out, before resuming his breakfast of fish.

Gwyn was off back to the house, where he fetched his basket from the
larder and carried it into the hall.

"Here, father--mother--come and have a look!" he cried; and upon their
joining him, he began to spread out his catch, so as to have an
exhibition of the silvery bass--the brilliant, salmon-shaped fish whose
sharp back fins proved to a certainty that they were a kind of sea
perch.

They were duly examined and praised: and when they had been divided into
presents for their neighbours in the little Cornish fishing port, the
Colonel, who had, after long and arduous service in the East, hung up
his sword to take to spade and trowel, went off to see to his
nectarines, peaches, pears, grapes and figs in his well-walled garden
facing the south, and running down to the rocky shores of the safe inlet
of Ydoll Brea, his son Gwyn following to help--so it was called.

The boy, a sturdy, frank-looking lad, helped his father a great deal in
the garden, but not after the ordinary working fashion. That fell to
the lot of Ebenezer Gelch, a one-eyed Cornishman, who was strangely
imbued with the belief that he was the finest gardener in the West of
England, and held up his head very high in consequence. Gwyn helped his
father, as he did that morning, by following him out into the sunny
slope, and keeping close behind.

The Colonel stopped before a carefully-trained tree, where the great
pears hung down from a trellis erected against the hot granite rock, and
stood admiring them.

"Near