"Hello!" he said, in a cheery voice as he entered, "no need to ask how the sick man is!"
Mari placed a chair for him by her uncle's side, who was bubbling over with tales and laughter, his wooden leg once more in its proper place, and the usual quid of tobacco in his cheek.
"Hooray, mach-geni! there's glad I am to see thee! Wel wyr! they have been nearly killing me here with their pills and their draughts and things; but old 'n'wncwl Jos has diddled them all this time!" And with a poke in Ivor's ribs, he laughed and stumped with something like his old jollity.
"Don't listen to him, Ivor bâch!" said Mari; "thee know'st him of old. There never was a man more ready to take his physic, so anxious he was to get well; not a pill nor a draught would he miss, and all day he watched that clock to keep me up to time with his doses!"
"Listen not to her, lad," said 'n'wncwl Jos, rather shamefaced; "she's a woman, and they always know how 'to change the feather to the colour of the river.' And how dost get on at Melyn Berwen?"
"Oh, very well so far!"
"Don't thee take too much toll now," said the old man, with another nudge. "Mari's got two Winchesters of barley for thee to grind next week."
"Da iawn![[2]] and how does Mwntseison get on without me? How is Gwen?"
"Oh, indeed, better, I think," said Mari, throwing a fresh log on the fire; "she does not wander about the village so much—goes over the cliffs and speaks to no one. Hugh Morgan thinks it is a pity to put her into an asylum just yet, while she is so quiet."
"Clap her in! clap her in!" said 'n'wncwl Jos; "she'll be safe there, that's my advice."