s speed and power? But
where is Morfydd? And now thou art awaiting Morfydd, the wanton, the
wife of the Bwa Bach; thou art awaiting her beneath the tall trees,
amidst the underwood; but she comes not; no Morfydd is there. Quite
right, Ab Gwilym; what wantest thou with Morfydd? But another form is
nigh at hand, that of red Reynard, who, seated upon his chine at the
mouth of his cave, looks very composedly at thee; thou startest, bendest
thy bow, thy cross-bow, intending to hit Reynard with the bolt just about
the jaw; but the bow breaks, Reynard barks and disappears into his cave,
which by thine own account reaches hell--and then thou ravest at the
misfortune of thy bow, and the non-appearance of Morfydd, and abusest
Reynard. Go to, thou carest neither for thy bow nor for Morfydd, thou
merely seekest an opportunity to speak of Reynard; and who has described
him like thee? the brute with the sharp shrill cry, the black reverse of
melody, whose face sometimes wears a smile like the devil's in the
Evangile. But now thou art actually with Morfydd; yes, she has stolen
from the dwelling of the Bwa Bach and has met thee beneath those
rocks--she is actually with thee, Ab Gwilym; but she is not long with
thee, for a storm comes on, and thunder shatters the rocks--Morfydd
flees! Quite right, Ab Gwilym; thou hadst no need of her, a better theme
for song is the voice of the Lord--the rock-shatterer--than the frail
wife of the Bwa Bach. Go to, Ab Gwilym, thou wast a wiser and a better
man than thou wouldst fain have had people believe.

But enough of thee and thy songs! Those times passed rapidly; with Ab
Gwilym in my hand, I was in the midst of enchanted ground, in which I
experienced sensations akin to those I had felt of yore whilst spelling
my way through the wonderful book--the delight of my childhood. I say
akin, for perhaps only once in our lives do we experience unmixed wonder
and delight; and these I had already known.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SILVER GREY--GOOD WORD FOR EVERYBODY--A REMARKABLE YOUTH--THE
ARCHDEACON--READING THE BIBLE

'I am afraid that I have not acted very wisely in putting this boy of
ours to the law,' said my father to my mother, as they sat together one
summer evening in their little garden, beneath the shade of some tall
poplars.

Yes, there sat my father in the garden chair which leaned against the
wall of his quiet home, the haven in which he had sought rest; and,
praise be to God, fou