HUGH MORGAN.
"Blodau'r flwyddin yw f'anwylyd,
Ebrill, Mai, Mehefin hefyd.
Ma'i fel yr haul 'n'twynu ar gy scod,
A gwenithen y genethod."
--_Old Ballad_.
"My love has every charm of weather,
April, May, and June together.
She's like the sunshine after rain)
She's like the full ear's ripest grain."
--_Trans_.
When Ivor reached his own lodgings he found Gwen had brought her work
out of the cwrt[1] to catch the last beams of the evening sun.
"Ah!" he said pleasantly, "getting on with the laces and ribbons?"
"Oh, yes," she said, with a toss of her head; "I am not one to let
the grass grow under my feet when once I have made up my mind."
"No, indeed, you never were," and he disappeared under the low
doorway, where his voice could be heard in cheerful conversation with
Lallo.
There had been nothing unfriendly in Gwen's words, but Ivor was quite
aware of the spiteful, sweeping glance which she cast after him.
When she soon after followed him into the dark penisha,[2] she flung
her work aside, saying:
"Wfft to the old sun; he went down just as I wanted him."
"Never mind, he'll come round again to-morrow," said Lallo, "and thou
canst catch his first beams if thou wishest."
Gwen made no answer, but raked the embers together with her wooden
shoe. She was a pale, freckled girl, with a short nose and a wide
mouth, and had no pretensions to beauty; but her shrewdness and
quickness of repartee had made her a favourite with the lads of the
village.
Siencyn Owen had courted her for years, had been flattered and
rebuffed in turns, and had remained faithful through all; while Gwen,
who had nursed a secret passion for Ivor, had in vain made every
endeavour to win his affections. At length her shrewdness had made
it evident to her that she was wasting her youth and her
blandishments in a hopeless cause, and she had accepted the
long-enduring Siencyn, although in that passionate, fiery little
heart of hers, Ivor Parry still had the first place.
"Well," she said, examining the brass tips of her clocs,[3] "what did
Gwladys say about the news?"
He was startled at the suddenness of the question, but knew better
from experience than to try to parry Gwen's thrusts.
"She was very glad," he said, "and so was Nani----"
"I suppose so! And was she glad to get her glee book?"
"Yes, indeed!" said Ivor, rising and standing in the doorway, a black
figure against the crimson sky. "Little witch!" he said to himself,
"I wonder how she knew; but what doesn't she know! They said her
grandmother was a witch, and her ways have descended to her
granddaughter, I think."
As a fact, Gwen, returning through the fields from the singing class,
had seen him stoop to pick up the book. Ivor was not absolutely free
from superstition; what dweller on that rocky coast is? With his
hands thrust deep in his pockets, he sauntered down the road to learn
what tidings 'n'wncwl[4] Jos (the general newsmonger of the village)
had of the Skylark which should have arrived with the morning's tide.
Meanwhile Gwen had carried her bit of work to the penucha[5] and had
locked it up in the shining, black "coffor," which contained the
wardrobe of the family. She saw her mother pass the window, carrying
her red pitcher to the well, and knowing she was alone in the house,
sat down in front of the fire and gave the rein to her thoughts, and
even spoke them aloud.
"She was very glad, no doubt, and they rejoiced together! Oh, yes,
Ivor, I have guessed your secret long ago, and if she were not such a
fool, such a simple baby, she would have seen it, too; but she
doesn't, that's one comfort! Llances![6] But never mind, it wasn't
for nothing that I lived with my grandmother. No, it wasn't for
nothing that I sat with her night after night over the peat fire! I
found out much from her," and rising, she stamped her foot and
clenched her hand, and an evil look came into the eyes which looked
so cunningly under those half-closed lids.
"I hate her!" she said; "and granny has told me that if you have
reason to hate anyone you can work them harm without going near them
or touching them! And haven't I reason? 'You can keep your mind,'
she said, 'so constantly fixed upon that one wish that your enemy
will not prosper.' Wel, indeed! perhaps that is nonsense! I will
marry Siencyn Owen--poor lad, he is faithful and true, and I will
make him a good wife--but 'tis Gwladys I will often be thinking
about!"
She paused a moment, and approached the little window, through which
the glow of the setting sun lighted up her face; it was not pleasant
to look upon.
"Yes, happy thoughts!" she said, with a sneering smile. "Granny!"
she cried, turning back to the gloom of the little room, and raising
her hand above her head. "Granny, granny! I wish you were here to
help me! and, who knows, perhaps you are! There was no love lost
between you and Nani Price!"
Almost as she spoke the last words Ivor Parry returned.
"I am as hungry as a hound," he said.
"Supper then directly; and here comes mother," she said.
And as the three sat at their supper of barley bread and fresh
butter, with the addition, of course, of a bowl of cawl,[7] no one
who looked in through that little window would have guessed that such
stormy passions had, a few minutes ago, filled the heart of one of
the party.
Next day the large doors of the sailmaker's shed stood wide open,
letting in a flood of sunshine and a refreshing breeze, which bore on
its wings the scent of the seaweed lying strewn on the shore below.
Inside the air was full of merry talk and laughter, while the call of
the seagulls and the plash of the waves on the shore came in with the
wind. The Mishteer was busily engaged with his foreman arranging the
sails which had been ordered from Aberython, occasionally going to
the doorway to look up the hill for the waggon which was to carry
them away.
He was about forty years of age, broad-shouldered and firmly built,
his head, covered with closely curling jet black hair, was perfect in
pose and shape; exposure to all weathers had browned a naturally dark
skin. His black beard and moustache were trimly and carefully kept.
His teeth were unusually white and even, the eyes which he was
shading from the glare of the morning sun were black as night, but
had in their depths such a bright sparkle, that they suggested the
idea of black diamonds. His open shirt and upturned sleeves
disclosed a brawny chest and muscular arms. Everything about him
betokened firmness and strength; and as he turned round to address
his workmen, his voice, though pleasant, and even musical, made
itself heard clearly above the loud talking and laughing.
"Here, somebody!" and instantly there was a hush in the hubbub, while
two or three men and women came forward to show their alacrity.
"That knot of boys down the valley! I believe they are ill-treating
some helpless creature in the stream!"
Before he had finished his orders, one of the workmen had clapped his
hat on, and, running down to the river, was soon dispersing the
little crowd of evil-doers.
"The Mishteer has seen you!" was all he said; but this was quite
enough to make the dirty little brown hands loosen their hold on the
stones, and the sun-burnt heads droop with shame, while they stared
with round, repentant eyes at the half-drowned dog which they had
been pelting with stones, and which the messenger was carrying gently
away.
"Another lucky dog like myself!" mused Will, as his long strides
carried him up the bank to the sail-shed.
"Who were the boys?" asked Hugh Morgan, looking down at the
frightened, shivering dog. "Ah, Shân Pentraeth's! Well, none of you
boys are to play with them for a week; d'ye hear?"
"Or goren,[8] Mishteer," came in answer from ten or a dozen boys
working together at one end of the shed.
Hugh Morgan having made a bed for the dog on a coil of ropes, turned
once more to the doorway as Deio Pantgwyn appeared leading a horse
and cart.
"Where's your waggon and two horses?" asked the Mishteer, with a
darkening look on his face, which his work-people all knew betokened
a storm.
"Wel, Mishteer, Cymro hurt his leg last night, and he was limping
this morning, so I could not bring him; but it's all right, Flower
can easily take the load herself."
"Stop, Deio; didn't you tell Ivor Parry last night that we ought to
have three horses? and now you want one to take the load! Go home
again, and learn that no one who works for me shall be cruel to any
animal----"
"But I thought the sails must be on the quay to-day?"
"So they ought; and you will put me to great expense, and Captain
Morris to great inconvenience; but that horse shall not carry that
load--so off you go!"
Deio stormed and swore; but the Mishteer was inexorable, and, turning
to Ivor, said:
"Leave everything as it is until the full moon tide, and I will go
myself to-night to explain to Captain Morris----"
"Will I borrow another horse to harness with Flower?" Deio shouted
from outside, "since you think so much more of a horse than of a
man's time and trouble."
"It would be too late now, and I shall not want you again."
Deio turned his horse and cart away, and the little incident seemed
to pass out of Hugh Morgan's mind, for he turned his attention to
some other section of his work with apparent equanimity.
"I have been thinking lately, Ivor, that we ought to have one of
those machines for rolling up and holding the work in place for the
women. See Gwladys Price now, how she has to drag at that sail to
sew on the reef points."
"Yes," said Ivor, "it would lighten the work very much, no doubt; but
it does not seem to weigh very much on her strength or spirits just
at present, does it?" and the two men looked over to where a knot of
girls were listening with evident amusement to 'n'wncwl Jos, who, on
the strength of the fact that he took in a weekly newspaper,
constituted himself the general dispenser of news.
Every day he made his appearance in the sail-shed brimful of
information, and should the newspapers be wanting in anything
interesting, he did not hesitate to invent new or garnish up old
tales from the store of his memory.
In personal appearance he resembled a bundle of knobs; in fact, had
not a wooden leg somewhat broken the circular outline, he would have
looked like a big knob himself. His head was certainly like a black
knob, and his face, the colour of new polished mahogany, was made up
of shining knobs, his nose being round and smooth, his cheeks the
same, especially one which always held a large quid of tobacco, and
his fat, brown fists were like two more knobs.
One of his eyes was always closed as if in a chronic wink, while the
other was unusually wide open. It was an undecided question in the
village whether the closed eyelid covered an eye or not. As a matter
of fact, it did not, for he had lost it when quite a young man, and
it was the account of this event which was now exciting the laughter
of the women gathered around him.
"Come, let us have a share of the fun," said Hugh Morgan,
approaching, his eyes fixed smilingly on Gwladys Price's laughing
face. She held her sides, and threw her head back in a fit of
laughter, her dimpled face and white teeth looking very charming in
their abandon of mirth.
"Oh, dear, dear! its 'n'wncwl Jos! Oh, dyr anwl, I have laughed till
my sides ache."
"Yes, there's a girl she is to laugh," said 'n'wncwl Jos, putting in
the stops with his wooden leg, "in spite of those serious brown eyes
of hers. Hegh, hegh, hegh! I'll back her for a good laugh against
any other girl in Mwntseison." (Stump, stump.) "I was only telling
her how I lost my eye long ago, and that's how she takes it! Hegh,
hegh! true as I am here. I was in the Bay of Loango, out there in
Africa, me sitting on the edge of the ship, The Queen of the South,
Captain Lucas, and whew! back I went among the sharks. In a moment
an old ghost of a fellow darted after me. 'Here I'm going,' says I
to myself, 'safe to Davey Jones' locker, and in a nasty conveyance,
too!' (There she is laughing again, look!) The shark stopped a
minute just to take a good look at me, when what should I feel but a
sharp hook in my eye. I knew at once 'twas the rope and the hook
from the ship, and Diwedd anwl![9] I'd rather have forty hooks in my
eye than be swallowed by that old white ghost. I was reaching the
sandy bottom just as the hook caught me, and partly with the pain,
and partly with joy, I danced and floundered about ('twas before I
lost my leg) and kicked up such a shindy, that I made a thick cloud
of sand about me, and the old shark backed a bit, and I tugged the
rope, and they pulled me up."
"By the hook in thine eye?" asked Gwen sarcastically, for 'n'wncwl
Jos's stories were always taken _cum grano salis_.
"Diwedd anwl! No! I took that out pretty sharp--hegh! hegh!
hegh!--and fastened it in the band of my trousses. 'Fforwel, old
boy!' sez I, with my thumb to my nose, though I was nearly losing my
breath; and as true as I'm here, the old fellow was
offended"--(stump, stump)--"hegh! hegh! hegh!--for he made a spring
at me, and snapped at my leg, just as they were pulling me out of the
water. If it wasn't for my trousses he'd have had her off! I have
thanked the Lord hundred thousand times for those good, strong
trousses, so glad I am that the old fellow didn't have the pleasure
of his dinner from me! not so much for the worth of the leg (for she
often gave me trouble with rheumatics--hegh! hegh!--and she does now,
though she's buried safe in Glasgow! True as I'm here she does!),
but to spite the old shark! 'Not for the worth of the loaf,' as the
woman said, 'but for the roguery of the baker!'--hegh! hegh! hegh!"
(Stump, stump, stump.)
"Keep the rest till to-night, 'n'wncwl Jos," said Hugh Morgan,
joining in the laugh which followed the story; "I'm coming in to have
a pipe with you. How is Mari?"
"Mari!" said the old man, with a strangely softened look on his
sunburnt, shining face. "Mari! oh, she's very well, calon fâchl[10]
she is well, indeed; though, now I remember, she had a
headache--there's a brute I am to forget!" and off he stumped in
great haste to make up for his forgetfulness.
Gwladys dried her tears of laughter, and applied herself with renewed
attention to the huge sail, of which she held one corner, while Gwen
sewed at the other.
"'Tis heavy for thee, lass," said Hugh Morgan, drawing near, and
rolling a log under the corner which Gwladys was working at.
The girl smiled, but looked a little embarrassed by the Mishteer's
kindness.
"Oh, no! no heavier than Gwen's corner, Mishteer, and I am quite as
strong."
It was said innocently, and Hugh knew it was; but a deep flush
overspread his face as he turned to the other girl, and offered her
the same help.
"The same log will do for both," he said.
"Oh, no need," said Gwen, with a slight sneer in her voice, as much
as she dared show the Mishteer; "of course this corner is lighter
than the other."
As Hugh passed on to another set of workers, she looked after him
with a slowly dawning perception in her eyes.
"He is very kind to thee," she said, looking at Gwladys under her
half-closed lids; "what has come over him?"
"Wel, indeed, he is always kind, isn't he? even to his dogs. See
how that little half-drowned dog wags his tail when he passes."
Gwen did not answer; but as her companion proceeded with her work she
looked at her furtively from time to time with hatred and jealousy in
her eyes.
The afternoon found them again at their work. Gwen had had time,
while she drank her cawl and ate her barley bread at dinner, to
arrange her ideas.
"Art coming to my wedding on Monday?" she asked carelessly.
"Oh, anwl, of course! Thee'st asked me and mother, and we are
coming."
"Madlen is to be my bridesmaid, and Ivor Parry will be the
teilwr.[11] Who shall I find for thee? Dye Pentraeth? I have heard
thee art fond of him!"
"Dye Pentraeth?" said Gwladys, with perfect composure. "Wel, indeed!
he will do very well for me; I will get on all right with him; but I
don't think thou hast ever heard I am fond of him, Gwen; thee hast
made a mistake."
"Perhaps, indeed!" said Gwen, with a yawn. "Was it Ivor Parry,
perhaps? I didn't take much notice."
Now, indeed, Gwladys was moved, and Gwen watched her mercilessly as a
crimson flush overspread cheeks, forehead, and neck.
"They were right, too, I see," she said, in a sarcastic tone. "Wel,
wel, merch i, 'tis to be hoped he will be pleased when I tell him."
"They were _wrong_!" said Gwladys, covering her face with both hands
for a moment; and then, standing up, she indignantly threw the corner
of the sail away from her. "Thee hast insulted me enough! To say I
loved a man who did not love me! Wel wyr!" and her fiery Welsh blood
surged through her veins, her bosom heaved, and her eyes flashed, and
Gwen was satisfied.
"Twt, twt," she said, "there's no need for a beacon fire! I wasn't
thinking what I said----"
"Wilt tell him such a thing?" said Gwladys; "if thee dost, I will
tell the Mishteer!"
"Not I!" said Gwen; "I have other things to think about." And
sitting down to her work again, Gwladys' quick temper subsided as
suddenly as it had arisen, and they parted at the end of the day with
no outward signs of anger.
Later on, when the sun had set and the sea lisped and murmured down
in the little harbour, Gwladys took her creel on her shoulders, and
made her way across the wet, shining sands. Her destination was a
creek just round the reef of rocks that bounded the harbour on the
south side, where Nance Owen gathered her laver weed every day,
leaving it in a shady place until Gwladys, to whom the work was a
labour of love, could carry it home for her, as she was too weak and
infirm herself.
The moon rose round and golden behind the hills, and already threw
black shadows across the beach. Gwladys did not sing as usual, but
walked slowly with bent head.
Gwen's words rankled in her mind and troubled her much. Her love for
Ivor had been so deeply buried, so carefully hidden even from
herself, that it pained and shocked her to have it thus dragged into
the garish light. But---- "Was Gwen right? did she love him?" and
with flushed cheeks she was forced to confess to herself, "Yes--I
love him; but he shall never know it!" After crossing the beach, she
found the tide was not low enough for her to reach the further creek;
so, sitting down, she waited, looking out over the sea which the
sunset glow tinted with a coppery red. Suddenly a boat came round
the point, and in it Gwladys recognised Ivor. As the prow of the
boat grated on the shingle, she rose, and stood uncertain what to do.
"Hello! Gwladys, thee'st mistaken the time to-night, for the tide
won't be down for another half hour. See! I have brought the laver
weed for thee." And, jumping lightly on the shore, he filled the
creel which she carried on her shoulders. "Would'st like a row,
lass?"
"Wel, indeed," said Gwladys, "I haven't been on the water a long
time; but my mother won't know where I am, whatever."
"Oh! come, we won't be long----"
"Wel, indeed, I don't know," she said again, but at the same time
allowing herself to be helped into the boat. Slipping the creel from
her shoulders, she took the second oar, for she was as much
accustomed to the boats and the rowing as any sailor in the place,
having spent the greater part of her childhood on the shore and on
the bay. They rowed silently for some time out towards the sunset,
where the coppery glow on the water was beginning to catch the silver
of the moon on its ripples; then shipping their oars, they floated
idly on. Gwladys bent over the side of the boat and drew her fingers
through the smooth waters.
The moon shone full on Ivor's handsome and sunburnt face. They did
not speak much, but in the hearts of both arose a full tide of
content and happiness. They were alone on the heaving, whispering
waters; sea and sky seemed to fold them in a mantle of love and
beauty; the bewitching softness of the hour threw its glamour over
them; and though the strong influence of the situation was felt by
both with all the fervour of youth and romance, they kept their
feelings under strong restraint, and their conversation was confined
to ordinary commonplaces.
"Here's a splendid evening!" said Ivor, stooping also towards the
deep green water in the shadow of the boat. His voice was low and
tender, and Gwladys drooped her eyes to her fingers rippling through
the water.
"Yes, beautiful! And last night was as beautiful!"
"Not quite," said Ivor; "there has never been such a sunset--such a
moonrise--I think."
"Perhaps, indeed," said Gwladys.
"Art going to Gwen's wedding?" he asked.
"Yes, I think," she said.
"And to the bidding?"
"Yes, I suppose. Is the Mishteer coming?"
"Not to the wedding, I think," said Ivor, "we couldn't expect the
Mishteer to do that, though he is so isel,[12] but to the bidding he
will come----"
"Yes, indeed!" said Gwladys, "and with his hand in his pocket I am
sure. He is so kind; he gave my mother our cow, you know; indeed, I
don't know what we should have done without him since my father died;
but let us go back."
"Why," asked Ivor, "art tired? or is there anyone waiting for thee?"
"Tired? no; and nobody is waiting for me, except my mother, perhaps."
"Art sure no lover is waiting thee?"
"I am sure," said Gwladys, raising her brown eyes to his; "I have no
lover to wait for me----"
Ivor's eyes trembled as he answered:
"Thee canst not be sure of that, Gwladys; perhaps thee hast one who
hides his love from thee?"
"Wel, indeed," she said laughing, "he succeeds in hiding it
completely then, for I know of none; but I think my mother will
wonder where I am, and Nance will come and look for her laver weed."
Ivor did not speak, but, taking up their oars, they were soon
silently cleaving the waves, and drawing near the shore again. The
night air swept by them, loosening the girl's hair, which streamed
back on the wind, and sometimes, as Ivor bent to the oar, it swept
across his face, and for a moment he was tempted with one hand to
press it to his lips, while with the other he still handled his oar.
Gwladys looked round. "I thought something pulled my hair?"
"Perhaps!" said Ivor; "who knows? On a night like this the mermaids
and mermen come out, and may be one might like to touch thy hair."
Gwladys flushed in the darkness. She was sure it was Ivor's hand
that had touched her, and it woke a thrill of happiness within her,
an emotion which, however, she instantly smothered.
"He is playing with me," she said, "and he means no more than the sea
breeze means when it touches my hair." And they rowed on again in
silence, until they reached the strand on one side of the harbour.
"Wilt come another night, Gwladys?"
"Perhaps, indeed," said the girl, settling her creel in its place,
and jumping lightly from the prow of the boat on to the rock.
As they parted on the shore, the moon shone full upon her, and Ivor
took note afresh of every charm in the varying expression of her face.
"Hast enjoyed it, lass?"
"Yes, to be sure," she answered.
"Wel, nos da."
"Nos da," said Gwladys, beginning her way over the beach.
He did not offer to accompany her, and she thought she understood his
reason.
"He would not like to be seen walking with me in the moonlight," she
mused. "Well, he is right; but he need not fear I would think he
meant anything by it," and she tossed her head proudly as she entered
Nance Owen's cottage and deposited her basket of weed on the table.
The house-door stood wide open, the moonlight and the sea wind
streaming in together, a few smouldering turfs burnt on the hearth,
the old cat sat beside them and blinked, but Nance was out gossiping;
and Gwladys went out again, and pursued her uneven path up the
village road to her own home with a strange sense of happiness in her
heart, which would not be stamped out even by that potent emotion,
"Welsh pride."
[1] Front garden.
[2] Lower, or living-room.
[3] Wooden shoes.
[4] Uncle.
[5] Upper-room, or parlour.
[6] Hateful creature.
[7] Leek broth.
[8] All right.
[9] Good Lord!
[10] Dear heart.
[11] Best man. In olden times the man who made the wedding garments
was always supposed to see his employer safely through the ceremony,
hence the best man is still called the "tailor."
[12] Without pride.