By Berwen Banks

Gwynne Ellis soon found himself quite at home at Brynderyn, and enjoyed

the freedom and variety of his life in its picturesque neighbourhood.

To Cardo, who had hitherto been so much alone, his presence was a very

pleasant change, and though Ellis was a complete contrast to himself in

every way, he liked him, and felt the advantage of companionship; more

especially in the evenings, when, his father shut up in his study, and

the old parlour but dimly lighted, he had always found the time hang

rather heavily. He was wont to relieve the tedium of the evening hour

by strolling into the kitchen, sitting in the rush chair, always looked

upon as the young master's, and freely entering into the games or

gossip of the farm-servants. He was much amused at the enthusiasm and

romance of his new-found friend, who, coming from a populous and

uninteresting border country, was charmed by the unconventional ways of

the Welsh coast. He threw a glamour of poetry and romance over the

most commonplace incidents; and Cardo, to tease him, would often assume

a stolid and unimpressionable manner that he was far from feeling.

On the whole, they pulled well together, and the acquaintance, begun

accidentally, bid fair to become a lifelong friendship.

Immediately after breakfast every morning, Gwynne Ellis, armed with

brushes, palettes, and divers other encumbrances, would ramble away

over shore or cliff, bringing with him in the evening the most

beautiful scenes and views of the neighbourhood, which his deft brush

had transferred to the pages of his portfolio. He was a true artist,

and, moreover, possessed one admirable trait, generally lacking in

inferior artists, namely, humility! And as he held up for Cardo's

inspection an exquisite sketch of sea and sky and tawny beach, he

waited anxiously for his criticisms, having found out that though his

friend was no artist himself, his remarks were always regulated by good

taste and common sense.

"That Nance's cottage?" Cardo was saying to-night as he sat in the

rush chair by the fire in the farm kitchen--Ellis on a bench beside

him, the little round table supporting the portfolio before them, "that

cosy, picturesque-looking cottage Nance's! those opal tints over sea

and sky--that blue smoke curling from the chimney, and that crescent

moon rising behind the hill! Come, Ellis, you have given us a dose

this time!"

"Dose of what?" said Ellis, putting on his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Why! of romance--of poetry--of imagination of course!"

"Give you my word, my dear fellow, that's how it appears to me. You

are blind, dead to the beauties which surround you. Now, what would

that scene appear like to you?"

Cardo laughed. "Why, exactly what it appeared to you, Ellis, only I

like to tease you. I see all these beauties, old chap, though I lack

the power to pourtray them as you do."