Yes, I, Gwladys, must write it down; the whole country has heard of it,
the newspapers have been full of it, and from the highest to the lowest
in the land, people have spoken of the noble deed done by a few Welsh
miners. But much as the country knows, and glad and proud as the
country is, I don't think she knows quite all--not exactly what mother
and I know; she does not know the heart history of those ten days. This
is the story within the other well-known story, which I want to write
here.
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On a certain sunny afternoon in September, 1876, I was seated up in the
window of the old nursery. I say _in_ the window, for I had got my body
well up on the deep oak seat, had flattened my nose against the pane,
and was gazing with a pair of dismal eyes down on the sea, and on some
corn-fields and hay-fields, which in panoramic fashion stretched before
my vision.
Yes, I was feeling gloomy, and my first remark, after an interval of
silence, was decidedly in keeping with my face and heart.
"Gwen," I said, "what is it to be buried alive?" Gwen, who was singing
her charge to sleep to a lively Welsh air, neither heeded nor heard me.
"Gwen!" I repeated in a louder key.
"Men are false and oft ungrateful,
Derry derry dando,"
sang Gwen, rocking the baby, as she sang, in the most dexterous manner.
Gwen had a beautiful voice, and I liked the old air, so I stayed my
impatient question to listen.
"Maids are coy and oft deceitful,
Derry derry dando,
Few there are who love sincerely,
Down a derry down.
Say not so, I love thee dearly,
Derry derry down down,
Derry down down derry."
"None but thee torment and teaze me,
Derry derry dando,"
I shouted in my impetuous manner, and leaving my seat, I went noisily to
her side.
"Gwen, I _will_ be heard. I have not another soul to speak to, and you
are so cross and disagreeable. What is it to be buried alive?"
"'Tis just like you, Gwladys," said Gwen, rising indignantly. "Just
after two hours of it, when I was getting the darling precious lamb off
to sleep, you've gone and awoke him. Dear, dear! good gracious! there
never was such a maid!"
Gwen retired with the disturbed and wailing baby into the night nursery,
and I was left alone.
"None but thee torment and teaze me,
Derry derry dando,"