'Come you, Netta, fach! we'll soon be there. See you the letter?'
'Not now—not now,' cries Netta impatiently, walking along the high road as fast as she possibly can. Mrs Jenkins keeps up with her, but is soon out of breath.
'There's Jack Trefortyn; he'll be sure to tell. Aunt 'Lisbeth, I will turn back. Father will be after me. It is too bad,' sobs Netta.
'We are near by now, Netta, fach. Come you!'
The little woman quickened her pace into a short run to keep up with Netta.
'Here's the turnpike; we'll be at Tynewydd 'rectly.'
'I see Tynewydd,' says Netta, straining her eyes to catch sight of some object far down the road; 'there is no carriage—I am sure there is none. Cousin Howel ought to be ashamed of himself.'
Netta runs on very fast, leaving Mrs Jenkins far behind, until she reaches the turning to a lane that leads to a little farm called 'Tynewydd.' She bursts out crying, and stamps her foot as she exclaims,—
'Does he think he's going to do what he likes with me because he's rich? I'll tell him he shall wait for me, I will!'
Hereupon she turns back and runs faster than before towards Mrs Jenkins.