All next day he was too busy for much thought, for, with the early dawn, the carts came down the hills from one of the farms on the uplands. He heard the merry crack of the whip and the lively whistle of the carters, while he donned his mealy garments, and, looking through his ivy-curtained window, he saw the brilliant scarlet and blue carts come lumbering down the hill, making a bright bit of colouring in the leaden winter landscape.
He hurried down to open the big door, and to pull up the dam-board from the leet, turning the water full on the cumbrous wooden wheel, for he would not have it said that "the new miller was caught napping," and before eight o'clock the mill was filled with the sound of the grinding and crushing of the big millstones, the clap, clap of the wheel, and the musical rushing of the Berwen as it poured and trickled through the rude machinery.
The empty carts returned up the hill, to come again in the evening, when the new corn and oats had been ground into the sweet brown flour and delicious oatmeal, in readiness for the barley loaves and oat-cakes of the farm.
One of the men servants and two jolly lasses stayed in the mill, and shouted their jokes and chaff at each other through the noise.
Ivor, on his mettle, worked with a will, grinding the corn, and endeavouring to show that the old Melin Berwen had still a thorough and a jolly miller at the head of affairs. He joined in the merry laughter and talk, which helped on the work of the day; but through it all the memory of Gwen's wild song haunted him, and, mingled with the whirring and rushing of the mill, he seemed to hear the tones of the refrain:
"Come, flames of yellow, red, and blue,
Help; for you are my servants true!"
When at last the meal had been tied into the sacks and the brilliant blue and red cortége returned up the hill with whistling and shouting and laughter, Ivor climbed up the ricketty stairs, and changed his mealy clothes for his usual half-sailor garb. As soon as his tea was over he turned his face in the grey of the evening towards Mwntseison. It was almost dark when he reached the village, and he was puzzled where to begin his search for Gwen. "In her own home? No! that would set her on her guard! Where he most dreaded to find her—in Gwladys' home? No! there he must not enter!"
Mari Vone's white-walled cottage was the first to appear through the twilight.
"Of course!" he said, "I want to know how 'n'wncwl Jos is."
He listened at the open door for a minute to the sound of voices within. No! Gwladys' clear tones were not there; but 'n'wncwl Jos's "Hegh! hegh! hegh!" was distinctly to be heard.