deed," said Will, casting a furtive glance behind him, to make
sure that no one from Garthowen was following in his footsteps, "Morva,
lass, where hast come from? I will begin to think thou art one of the
spirits thy mother says she sees. I thought thee wast busy in the
dairy at home!"

Morva laughed merrily.

"I had some milk to bring home, and Ann sent me early to help mother a
bit. I was going now to gather dry furze and bracken to boil the
porridge. Will you come and have supper with us, Will?"

"I have just had my tea," he said, "and a supper of bitter herbs into
the bargain, for my father angered me by something he said. He is
changeable as the wind, and I was roaming over here to seek for
calmness from the sea wind, and perhaps a talk with Sara."

"Yes, come! She is in the herb garden gathering her bear's claws and
rue; 'tis the proper time for them. But first we must cut the bracken."

Will took her sickle and soon cut a pile of the dry brittle fuel,
binding it with a rope which she carried; and turning towards the
cottage, they dragged it behind them.

"You go and seek mother," said Morva, "while I go and boil the
porridge."

And in the garden Will found Sara stooping over her herb bed, and
deeply intent upon her task.

The sun was setting now, and threw its ruddy beams upon the sunny
corner, and upon the aged face and figure of the old woman.

"Well, 'machgen i," she said, straightening herself. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," said Will; "only, roaming about the moor, I came in to
see you, and Morva has asked me to have supper with you--you are
gathering your herbs?"

"Yes, 'tis time to dry them and hang them up under the rafters; if they
will save one human being from pain 'twill be a good thing. Last night
Mari Lewis came to ask me for something for her boy; I gave it to her,
but she never came to tell me whether it had done him any good," and
she smiled as she led the way back to the cottage carrying her bunches
of herbs.

"Was it Dan?" asked Will.

"Yes."

"Then he is well, for I saw him ploughing this evening."

"That's better than thanks," said the old woman, entering the dark
cottage, where Morva was stirring a crock which hung on a chain from
the open chimney, the furze and bracken flaming and crackling beneath
it and lighting up her beautiful face. Once in the cottage, Sara sat
down on the old oak settle and waited for her supper, her herbs lying
in a green heap on the floo