"Gwen said there was a cloud in it this morning!"
"Gwen!" he said, with a start. "She hasn't been looking at it, has she?"
Gwladys nodded.
"Ach y fi! there's a pity! She is too nearly related to Peggi Shân for her eyes or her fingers to do any good to thy brewing. I remember once, when my mother was brewing (and she was famed for her clear cwrw), but jâr-i! Peggi Shân came to the door; 'twas a very sunny day, and her shadow fell straight over the mash-tub, and, sure as I'm here, the beer was as thick as bwdran![[7]] Always after that we kept the door locked on brewing days."
"Perhaps, indeed!" said Gwladys! "I will do so next time, for there is something about Gwen I don't like."
"Well, we've got nothing to do but try our best now; but 'tis pity Gwen looked at it!" And he unfolded from the crumpled newspaper a large lump of coal, which, after well washing, he placed at the bottom of the cask, pouring the fermented brecci gently over it. "There it is! Now all I ask for my secret is—that when your cask is empty, you will take the coal out, and burn it in the middle of your strongest fire; it will bring good luck to your next brewing; you will be surprised to see what a mass of mud will be gathered round it, and your beer will be like the cryshal! and I'll come and taste the first glass."
"Yes, thou shalt indeed!"
"Well, good-bye, Mishtress; 'tis only Gwen I am afraid of now! Hast heard any more about Ivor Parry?"
"No," answered Gwladys, in a calm voice which astonished herself, "only that he is well nursed by the daughter of the house—Gwladys is her name!"
"Well, well, poor fellow! when you are ill it is well to have a woman about you," and he stumped away.