"In a garden of flowers I roamed one day,
And I said, I will find me a posy gay;
I passed the red roses and lilies so fair—
And a handful of nettles I gathered there!"
"Twt, twt!" he said, stopping suddenly; "there's a grumbling song I've got hold of this fine evening." And he began again in another key, and filled the summer air with melody:—
"Alone on the shore of the stormy bay
A snow-white sea-gull stands;
And she preens her feathers damp with spray
On the wet and shining sands.
"Perhaps 'tis a maiden who stands to-day
All wet in a rain of tears;
And perhaps she will weep by that stormy bay,
Through all the coming years!"
"Well, tan i marw! That's not much better," he said. "What's the matter with the man?" And reaching Nani Price's cottage, he stooped his head, and entered the low doorway. "Hello, Nani!" he called, and she rose from the dark chimney corner.
"Wel, wyr![[1]] Ivor, thy voice came in at the door before thee! I am glad to see thee back again. And what dost think of Aberython?"
"Oh, 'tis very well," answered Ivor. "There's a fine street going down to the quay, and shops all the way on both sides," and he thought joyfully of the pretty ribbon he had safe in his pocket for Gwladys. "But where's Gwladys?" he asked, looking round; "not come home from the sail-shed yet?"
"Well, she's not been there to-day; she's gone to Mari Vone's with patterns of wool for the weaving. Thou'st come to wish her joy, no doubt, like all the rest?"
"Wish her joy! of what?" said Ivor, sitting down on the end of the spinning-wheel bench. There was a curious darkening of the sunshine at the doorway and a confused rushing in his head which made him glad to sit down.
"Hast not heard the news, then?" said Nani. "Why, she's going to be married to the Mishteer!" And the good woman, for once forgetting everything but her own satisfaction, in the information she had to impart, was blind to the change in Ivor's face.