Garthowen | Page 3

tie for my father, and a hymn-book for Ann, and here's a knife for
Will, and a pocket-book for Gwilym Morris, the preacher who is
lodging with them. And here," he said, opening a gaily-painted box, "is
something for little Morva," and he gently laid on the table a necklace
of iridescent shells which fell in three graduated rows.
"Oh! there's pretty!" said Mrs. Parry, and while she held the shining
shells in the red of the sun, again the doorway was darkened by the
entrance of two noisy, gaudily-dressed girls, who came flouncing up to
the table.
"Hello! Bella Lewis and Polly Jones, is it you? Where you come from
so early?" said Mrs. Parry.
"Come to see me, of course!" suggested the sailor.
"Come to see you and stop you going," said one of the girls. "Gethin
Owens, you are more of a skulk than I took you for, though you are
rather shirky in your ways, if this is true what I hear about you."
"What?" said Gethin, replacing the necklace in the box.
"That you are going home for good, going to turn farmer and say
good-bye to the shipping and the docks." And as she spoke she laid her
hand on the box which Gethin was closing, and drew out its contents.
There was a greedy glitter in her bold eyes as she asked, "Who's that

for?" and she clasped it round her own neck, while Gethin's dark face
flushed.
"Couldn't look better than there," he answered gallantly, "so you keep it,
to remember me," and tying up his canvas bag he bade them all a
hurried good-bye.
Mrs. Parry followed him to the doorway with regretful farewells, for
she was losing a friend who had not only paid her well, but had been
kind to her delicate boy, and whose strong fist had often decided in her
favour a fight with her brutal husband.
"There you now," she said, in a confidential whisper and with a nudge
on Gethin's canvas bag, "there you are now; fool that you are! giving
such a thing as that to Bella Lewis! What did you pay for it, Gethin?
Shall I have it if I can get it from her? Why did you give it to her? you
said 'twas for little Morva--"
"Yes, it was," he said; "but d'ye think, woman, I would give it to Morva
after being on Bella Lewis's neck? No! that's why I am running away in
such a hurry, to buy her another, d'ye see, and Dei anwl, I must make
haste or else I'll be late on board. Good-bye, good-bye."
Mrs. Parry looked after him almost tenderly, but called out once more:
"Shall I have it if I can get it?"
"Yes, yes," shouted Gethin in return, and as he made his way through
the grimy, unsavoury street, he chuckled as he pictured the impending
scrimmage.
CHAPTER II
"GARTHOWEN"
Along the slope of a bare brown hill, which turned one scarped
precipitous side to the sea, and the other, more smooth and undulating,
towards a fair scene of inland beauty, straggled the little hamlet of

Pont-y-fro. Jos Hughes's shop was the very last house in the village, the
road beyond it merging into the rushy moor, and dwindling into a stony
track, down which a streamlet trickled from the peat bog above. The
house had stood in the same place for two hundred years, and Jos
Hughes looked as if he too had lived there for the same length of time.
His quaintly cut blue cloth coat adorned with large brass buttons, his
knee breeches of corduroy, and grey blue stockings, looking well in
keeping with his dwelling, but very out of place behind a counter. His
brown wrinkled face and ruddy cheeks were like a shrivelled apple, his
shrewd inquisitive eyes peered out through a pair of large brass-rimmed
spectacles, and, to judge by his expression, the view they got of the
world in general was not satisfactory.
It was a day of brilliant sunshine and intense heat, but through the open
shop door the sea wind came in with refreshing coolness. Behind the
counter Jos Hughes measured and weighed lazily, throwing in with his
short weight a compliment, or a screw of peppermints, as the case
required.
"Who is this coming up in the dust?" he mumbled.
"'Tis Morva of the moor," said a woman standing in the doorway and
shading her eyes with her hand. "What does she want, I wonder?
There's a merry lass she is!"
"Oh! day or night, sun or snow don't matter to her," said Jos Hughes.
At this moment the subject of their remarks entered the shop, and,
sitting on a sack of maize, let her arms fall on her lap. She was quickly
followed