Garthowen Part 7

"Quilts and pillows, indeed, for a man who has slept on the hard deck, on the bare ground, on a coil of ropes; and once on a floating spar, when I thought sleep was death, and welcomed it too."

"Hast seen many hardships then, dear lad?" said Sara. "Perhaps when we were sleeping sound in out beds, thou hast oftentimes been battling with death and shipwreck."

"Not often, but more than once, indeed," said Gethin.

"Thou must tell us after supper some of thy wonderful escapes."

"Yes, I'll tell you plenty of yarns," said Gethin, his eyes still following Morva's movements.

A curious silence had fallen upon the girl, generally so ready to talk in utter absence of self-consciousness. She served the porridge into the black bowls, and shyly pushed Gethin's towards him, cutting him a slice of the barley bread and b.u.t.ter.

"I have left my canvas bag at Caer-Madoc," said Gethin, when he had somewhat appeased his appet.i.te. "'Twill come up to Garthowen to-morrow. I have a present in it for thee, Morva."

"For me?" said the girl, and a flood of crimson rushed into her face.

"I didn't think thee wouldst be remembering me."

"There thou wast wrong, then," said Gethin, cutting himself another slice.

"Well, indeed, I have never had a present before!"

"I have one for Ann, and Will, and my father, G.o.d bless him! And how is good old Will?"

"He is quite well," said Morva.

"As industrious and good as ever? Dei anwl! there's a difference there was between me and him! You wouldn't think we were children of the same mother. Well, you can't alter your nature, and I'm afraid 'tis a bad lot Gethin Owens will be to the end!" And he laughed aloud, his black eyes sparkling, and the rings in his ears shining out in the gloom of the cottage.

Morva looked at the stalwart form, the swarthy skin, the strong, even teeth, that gleamed so white under the black moustache, the jet-black hair, the broad shoulders, and thought how proud Ann would be of such a brother.

They sat long into the night, Sara gathering from the young man the history of all his varied experiences since he had left his father's home; Morva listening intently as she cleared away the supper, Gethin's eyes following her light figure with fascinated gaze.

At last the door was bolted, the fire swept up, and Sara and Morva, retiring to the penucha, left Gethin to his musings, which, however, quickly resolved themselves into a heavy, dreamless sleep, that lasted until the larks were singing above the moor on the following morning.

[1] Sea-maiden.

[2] Spirit Sara.

CHAPTER VI

GETHIN'S PRESENTS

The corn harvest had commenced, and Ebben Owens was up and out early in the cornfields. Will, too, was there, but with scant interest in the work. It had never been a labour of love with him, and now that fresh hopes and prospects were dawning upon him, the farm duties seemed more insignificant and tedious than ever. Had it been Gethin who stretched himself and yawned as he attacked the first swathe of corn, Ebben Owens would have called him a "lazy lout," but as it was Will, he only jokingly rallied him upon his want of energy.

"Come, come," he said, "thee'st not got thy gown and bands on yet.

We'll have hard work to finish this field by sunset; another hand wouldn't be amiss."

"Here it is, then," said a pleasant, jovial voice, as a sunburnt man came through the gap, holding out his brown right hand to Ebben Owens.

The other he stretched towards Will, who had thrown his sickle away, and was hastily approaching.

No human heart could have steeled itself against that frank countenance and beaming smile, certainly no father's. There was no questioning "Who art thou?" for in both father's and brother's hearts leaped up the warm feeling of kinship.

"Gethin!" said Ebben Owens, clasping the hand held out to him so genially. "'Machgen i, is it thee indeed? Well, well, I am glad to see thee!"

And Will, too, greeted the long-lost one with warm welcome.

The reapers gathered round, and Gethin's reception was cordial enough to satisfy even his antic.i.p.ations; for he had thought of this home-coming, had dreamt of the welcome, and had earnestly desired it, with the intense longing for home which is almost the ruling pa.s.sion of a Welshman's heart.

"Here I am," he said, laughing, his eyes sparkling with happiness--"here I am, ready for anything! 'The prodigal son' has returned, father. Will you have him? Will you set him to work at once with your hired servants? For I love hard work, and if I don't get it, perhaps I'll fall into mischief again."

"No, no," said Ebben Owens, "no work for thee this morning, lad. Thee must go home with Will, and lighten Ann's heart, for she has grieved for thee many a time, and I will follow at noon. To-morrow thou shalt work if thou wilt; there is plenty to do at Garthowen, as usual. Come, boys, come, on with the work. Nothing must stop the harvest, not even the homecoming of Gethin."

The men stooped to their work again, but there were muttered comments on the master's want of feeling.

"Dei anwl! if it had been Will," said one man to his neighbour, "the reaping would have been thrown to the winds, and we would have had a grand supper on the fatted calf. But Gethin is different. There's a fine fellow he is!"

"Yes," said another; "did you notice his broad chest and his bright eyes? Will looks nothing by him."

And they looked after the two young men as they pa.s.sed through the gap together, Ebben Owens taking up Will's sickle and setting to work in his place.

Meanwhile Gethin, with a sailor's light, swinging gait, hastened Will's more measured steps towards the homestead.

"Well, Will lad, there's glad I am to see thee!"

"And I," said Will. "No one knows how much I grieved after thee at first, but latterly I was beginning to get used to thy absence."

"Well, 'twas quite the contrary with me, now," said Gethin. "At first I was full of the new scenes and people around me, and I didn't think much about old Wales or any of you; but as the time went on my heart seemed to ache more and more for the old home--more and more, more and more!--till at last I made up my mind I would give up the sea and go back to Garthowen and stay, if they wanted me there, and help the old man on the farm. Dost think he will have me?"

"Yes, of course," said Will. "Thou hast come in the nick of time, and 'twill be easier for me to leave home, as I am going to do next month."

"Leave home?" said Gethin, in astonishment.

"Yes," and Will began to expatiate with pride on his new plans, and his intention of entering Llaniago College at once.

"Diwss anwl!" said Gethin; "have I got to live continually with a parson? I'm afraid I had better pack up my bundle at once; thee wilt never have patience with me and my foolish ways."

Will looked sober. "Thy foolish ways! I hope thou hast left them behind thee."

"Well, truth," said Gethin, "as we grow older our faults and follies get buried deeper under the surface; but it takes very little to dig them up with me. I am only a foolish boy in spite of my strong limbs and tall stature. But so it will always be. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, and Gethin Owens will be Gethin Owens always.

There's the dear old place!" he cried suddenly; "there's the elder tree over the kitchen door! Well, indeed! I have thought of it many times in distant lands and stormy seas, and here it is now in reality! G.o.d bless the old home!" and he took off his cap and waved it round his head as he shouted, "Hoi! hoi!" to Ann, who, already apprised of his coming, was running through the farmyard to meet him.

"Oh, Gethin anwl!" she sobbed, as she clasped her arms round his neck.

Gethin gently loosed her clinging fingers, and kissed the tears from her eyes, and in her heart welled up again the tender love which had been smothered and buried for so long.

Gwilym Morris came hurrying down from his "study," a tiny room part.i.tioned off from the hayloft. And if the fatted calf was not killed for Gethin's return, a fine goose was, and no happier family sat down to their midday meal that day in all Wales than the household of Garthowen.