be of such importance, "and
the same brown smot on the nother ear, and that's the only smot upon
her!"

He watched with intense interest the progress of the picture, calling
the artist's attention to all Corwen's good points as though he were
appraising her at a cattle sale, and an hour passed away quickly both
to the artist and Shoni; but to Cardo and Valmai, what a golden hour!
to stroll away together over the soft grass studded with buttercups,
down to the edge of the cliffs, where they sat among the gorze bushes
looking out at the rippling blue bay, silent from sheer happiness, but
taking in unconsciously the whole beauty of the scene, for it was
engraved upon their minds and often recalled in after years.

"There!" said Gwynne Ellis at length, closing his portfolio with a
snap, "I can finish the rest at home--"

"Iss, iss," said Shoni, "iss not so much otts about Valmai."

"And to-morrow I will finish your gaiters, Shoni."

"Very well, sir; pliss you remember, seven buttons on both of the two
legs."

CHAPTER VII.

THE VICAR'S STORY.

The spring had gone; summer had taken her place and was spreading all
her wealth of beauty over the scene. The sea lay shimmering in the
golden sunshine, the little fishing-boats flitted about the bay like
white-winged butterflies. On the yellow sands the waves splashed
lazily; up on the cliffs the sea crows cawed noisily, and the sea-gulls
sailed high in the air, and day after day Gwynne Ellis sought and found
some new scene of beauty to transfer to his portfolio. Every day he
trudged away in the morning and returned late in the evening, fast
gaining strength and health, and bidding fair soon to rival Cardo in
his burly breadth of chest.

And where was Cardo through all this summer weather? The duties of his
farm were never very onerous, as, under Ebben's practical management
and his father's careful eye all the work was carried on regularly, and
he well knew that with every year, and with their inexpensive menage,
his father's riches were increasing, and that there was no real reason
why he should work at all; but he was one of those to whom idleness was
intolerable. True! he could lie on the sands with his hat over his
face for an hour sometimes, listening to the plashing waves and the
call of the sea-birds; he could sail in his boat on the bay for many a
sunny afternoon, the sails flapping idly in the breeze, while he with
folded hands leant against the mast,