By Berwen Banks

The spring had gone; summer had taken her place and was spreading all

her wealth of beauty over the scene. The sea lay shimmering in the

golden sunshine, the little fishing-boats flitted about the bay like

white-winged butterflies. On the yellow sands the waves splashed

lazily; up on the cliffs the sea crows cawed noisily, and the sea-gulls

sailed high in the air, and day after day Gwynne Ellis sought and found

some new scene of beauty to transfer to his portfolio. Every day he

trudged away in the morning and returned late in the evening, fast

gaining strength and health, and bidding fair soon to rival Cardo in

his burly breadth of chest.

And where was Cardo through all this summer weather? The duties of his

farm were never very onerous, as, under Ebben's practical management

and his father's careful eye all the work was carried on regularly, and

he well knew that with every year, and with their inexpensive menage,

his father's riches were increasing, and that there was no real reason

why he should work at all; but he was one of those to whom idleness was

intolerable. True! he could lie on the sands with his hat over his

face for an hour sometimes, listening to the plashing waves and the

call of the sea-birds; he could sail in his boat on the bay for many a

sunny afternoon, the sails flapping idly in the breeze, while he with

folded hands leant against the mast, lost in thought, his eyes narrowly

scanning the cliffs and rocks around for some sign of Valmai, and

sometimes rewarded by a glimpse of her red hood or a wave of her

handkerchief; but for the lounging laziness which shirks work, and

shrinks from any active exertion, he had nothing but contempt. Dye

always averred "that the work never went so well as when the young

master helped at it."

"Twt, twt, he is like the rest of the world these days," said Ebben,

"works when he likes, and is idle when he likes. When I was young--"

etc. etc.

When the haymaking began he was everywhere in request, and entered with

much energy into the work of the harvest. Early and late he was out

with the mowers, and, at a push, with his strong shoulders and brawny

arms could use the scythe as well as any of the men. The Vicar paid

occasional visits to the hayfields, and Betto was busy from morning to

night filling the baskets with the lunch of porridge and milk, or the

afternoon tea for the haymakers, or preparing the more substantial

dinner and supper.

"What's Dinas thinking of?" said Ebben, drying his heated face; "not

begun to mow yet?"

"Begin to-morrow," answered Dye. "Essec Powell forgot it was hay

harvest, until Valmai pulled him out by the coat, and made him look

over the gate."