"Wilt come and help me with the brewing this afternoon?" she said, with a languid tone in her voice, which, perhaps, was due to the heat.
"B'd siwr! b'd siwr!"[[2]] replied the old man, waking up with evident interest.
"Hugh says thou hast the secret for making the beer clear."
"So I have, merch i—learnt it from my grandmother. How far hast thou got with thy brewing?"
"The brecci is working," she said, "but I'm afraid it won't be clear. I have never brewed before."
"I'll be up this afternoon," said 'n'wncwl Jos, "and we shall see whether thine ale will be clear or not. The Mishteer knew where to send thee for advice! Have you heard the news?"
"What news?"
"Why, that Ivor Parry is very ill; there he lies stranded at Carnarvon, poor fellow, in some strange lodging, laid up with fever. The Lapwing arrived at Abersethin last night from Carnarvon with slates, and brought the news. I thought he was sickening for something before he left; didst notice how white he looked?"
"Yes," said Gwladys, looking across the bay, where in the distance the line of the Carnarvonshire hills looked like a chain of blue clouds.
"The Mishteer will be shockin' sorry to hear it," said the old man, shaking his head. "I'm going to the sail-shed to tell him as soon as I have finished this job."