Home Again

A cold, biting, north wind blew over Abersethin one morning in
November, the sea tossed and tumbled its sand-stained waves in the bay,
the wind carrying large lumps of yellow foam far up over the beach, and
even to the village street, where the "Vicare du" was making a
difficult progress towards the post-office, his hat tied firmly on, his
hands buried deep in his pockets, and his long, black cloak flapping
behind him. He walked on bravely. Every day he tramped over the sandy
beach, under the cliffs, and down the village street to the
post-office; this was quite a change in his habits, which drew many
comments from the gossiping villagers.

"Well, well; he might have been kinder to his son when he had him with
him; he'll never have the chance again," said Peggi "bakkare," peering
through her tiny, foam-flecked window.

"No," said Madlen, who had come in for a loaf; "having got safe away
'tisn't likely the young man will turn up here again, and small blame
to him considering everything."

"No, indeed, Madlen fâch; serve the old Vicare right; but 'tis a pity
for the poor girl, whatever."

"And where is she, I wonder?"

"Well, now," said Madlen, "Mary, my sister, was coming home from Caer
Madoc last week, and on the roadside there was a tent of gypshwns; it
was dark and they had a fire, and there, sitting by the fire, was a
girl the very picture of Valmai."

"Dir anwl! I daresay it was her, indeed; but yet, I thought she was
too much of a lady to join the gypshwns. Well, well; strange things do
happen."