"Yes, spring is coming, and this is a sunny garden," observed Acsa. "We shall have a fine bed of leeks here. Caton pawb! what are you going to do with those?"
"I think, perhaps, Mari Vone would like them."
"Shouldn't wonder, indeed," said Acsa. "She's an odd woman; there's pretty she is! They say God's blessing is upon her that she never grows old; and she's thirty-seven in May—that I know, because Mary, my sister's daughter, is the same age. She looks old enough to be Mari Vone's mother; 'tis very strange."
Ivor pondered, as he went slowly over the cliffs, upon Mari Vone's unfading beauty. Latterly she had seemed to him fairer than ever, and even to grow younger as the days passed on. There was a light in her eyes, a happy smile on her lips, and her coils of golden hair looked more than ever like an angel's crown.
"She is beautiful, no doubt," he thought, "with a beauty that reminds one more of heaven than earth. Mari's troubles have been changed to golden blessings, I think."
She was busily laying the simple supper on the table when Ivor entered, 'n'wncwl Jos telling her one of his marvellous tales, punctuated with stumps of his wooden leg.
"Hello, Ivor! come in; just in time for supper—cawl it is, too, my boy."
"Oh, Ivor!" said Mari, coming to meet him, "there's sweet flowers. I always say it is such a shame there is no name for them—such a sweet smell!—but never mind, I love them well without a name."
"In English they call them violets," said Ivor.
"Vayolet, vayolet!—oh, it suits them well. I must share them with Gwladys." And placing them in a little mug of water, she made room for Ivor at the table.