"Never to tell anyone what I told thee over yonder beyond the
Cribserth. Will wants it to be a secret."
"Fear nothing," said Gethin, "I will never tell tales. Gethin Owens has not many good qualities, but he has one, and that is, he would never betray a trust, so be easy, Morva. I am going to Pont-y-fro. Good-night!"
"Good-night," echoed the girl, and, taking up her pail, she closed the beudy door, and as she crossed the yard under the bright starlight she recalled Gethin's parting words, "Be easy, Morva," and repeated them to herself with a sorrowful smile.
* * * * * *
"'Tis Martinmas Fair to-morrow," said Ann, as Morva entered the best kitchen. "Are you going, father?"
"Yes," he said. "I have those yearlings to sell."
"I will come with you," said Gwilym Morris, for they seldom let the old man go alone. "I can see about Will's coat, and I want some books. Come on, Ann, come with us; 'twill be a lively fair, I think."
"Very well, I'll come and look after you both."
"That's right," said the old man, rubbing his knees. "Twm will drive the yearlings. Art coming, Will?"
"No," he answered, "I have promised to go to Caer-Madoc to-morrow."