Madlen had drawn the round table for cosiness near to the fire, in the glow of which the tea-things and snowy cloth gleamed cheerfully, while the little brown teapot kept company with the bubbling kettle on the hearth.
"Oh, Mishteer," said Ivor, putting his head in, "I can remind Deio Pantgwyn to send the waggon and horses to-morrow; I am going that way."
"There's what I was thinking about," said Hugh; "but I thought thou wert going to the singing class to-night at Brynseion?"
"They must do without me to-night. Owen Jones is a good leader," replied Ivor.
"H'm, h'm! I don't know," said Hugh thoughtfully, "how he'll manage that change of key in the new glee; but I must watch him. Well, tell Deio to be here at eleven to-morrow, for the sails for the Lapwing have to be on the pier at Aberython by four in the afternoon."
"Right!" said Ivor laconically; "good-night." And away he went whistling, with his hat pushed back, and his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat.
The affection which he felt for his master was shared by almost every man, woman, and child in the village, where Hugh Morgan's influence had spread itself, unconsciously to him, through every household. What special trait in his character had roused this strong feeling it would be difficult to say; but the Welsh are an impressionable race, and doubtless the uprightness and firmness of his moral principles, coupled with an unswerving adherence to truth, had laid the foundation of the power which he possessed over his neighbours. He had also the reputation of being a shrewd man of business, and it would have caused a shock of astonishment to the villagers had he committed a dishonourable action, or miscalculated the result of a business transaction. Their attachment to him was not unmixed with a certain amount of wholesome fear, perhaps to be accounted for by the complete dependence of the majority of them upon him for their daily bread. He was a proof of the truth of the saying, "A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump," for Mwntseison was, outwardly at least, a pattern village. There was very little brawling or drinking, considering that most of the younger inhabitants were seafaring men.
Later in the evening, as Ivor Parry wended his way towards Deio Pantgwyn's farm, his cheerful whistle accompanied a train of busy thought—pride in the consciousness that Hugh Morgan confided in him entirely and made of him a special friend, gratitude for the kindnesses which he had heaped upon him, and pleased satisfaction at the thought that he was of real service to the Mishteer. On the brow of the hill he passed the gaunt and bare Methodist Chapel, from the open doors of which came a stream of music, the result of sixty or seventy young fresh voices, blended into the delicious harmony of a popular Welsh glee.
Ivor stopped to listen. His voice, the richest and most musical of the whole party, was much missed in the gallery of the chapel, where the singing class always met. He longed to enter, and take his usual place; but the pleasure of serving Hugh Morgan outweighed this desire. A smile flitted over his face as he listened attentively to the female voices, which took one part alone. One voice soared above the others in clearness and sweetness, and he took note of it with a side jerk of his head.
"Gwladys," he said; "I would know it anywhere; yes, I would know it amongst the angels in heaven!" and he turned down the stubby lane, which led its meandering way through fields and farmsteads to Pantgwyn, where Deio himself was whittling a stick at the house door. When reminded of his promise to send the waggon and pair of horses the next day to Hugh Morgan's workshop, he answered in a grumbling, dissatisfied voice: