"And for Ann," continued Gethen, "I have only a hymn-book."
"What couldst thou bring me better? And look at the cover! So good.
And the gold edges! And Welsh! I will be proud of it."
"Yes," said Gethin; "I bought it in Liverpool in a shop where they sell
Welsh books. And for you, sir," he said, turning to Gwilym Morris.
"'Sir,'" said the preacher, laughing; "Gethin bâch, this is the second time you have called me 'sir.' Drop it, man, or I will be offended."
"Well! I won't say it again. Dei anwl! I will have to be on my best behaviour here, with a parson and a preacher in the house! Well! it's a pocket-book for you, I thought very like, being a preacher, you would like to put down a word sometimes."
"Quite right, indeed," said Gwilym Morris; "and look at my old one, barely hanging together it is!"
At the bottom of the bag from which Gethin drew his treasures, lay the little painted box containing Morva's necklace.
"Where's Morva?" he asked. "I've got something for her, too."
"Oh, well," said Will, "thou art a generous man and a rich, I should think! Perhaps thou hast one for Dyc 'pigstye' and Sara ''spridion' too."
"Dyc 'pigstye'; no! But Sara, indeed I'm sorry I didn't remember her, whatever."