"Only grown bigger and rougher and uglier, but never mind; 'tis the same old Gethin who carried thee about the slopes on his shoulders, but, dei anwl! I didn't expect to see thee so altered and so—so pretty."
Morva blushed but ignored the compliment.
"Well, indeed, there's glad they'll be to see thee at Garthowen."
"Dost think?"
"Yes, indeed; but won't I put him some supper, mother?"
"Yes, 'merch i, put on the milk porridge."
And Morva, glad to hide her embarrassment, set about preparing the evening meal, for Gethin's eyes told the admiration which he dared not speak. His gaze followed her about as she mixed the milk and the oatmeal in the quaint old iron crochon.
"'Twill soon be ready; thee must be hungry, lad," said Sara, laying the bowls and spoons in readiness on the table.
"Yes, I am hungry, indeed, for I have walked all the way from Caer-Madoc. 'Tis Sunday, thee seest, so there were no carts coming along the road. Halt, halt, lass!" he said, "let me lift that heavy crochon for thee."
"Canst sleep on the settle, Gethin?" asked the old woman, "for I have no bed for thee. I will spread quilts and pillows on it."