and so it went on, as you might
say, from better to best.

Yes, indeed, I could not give those days a truer name than best; for I
am sure that they were the only real sunshine either of us ever felt in
our lifetimes.

Ye see, Rhoda loved me. Why, heaven only knows. And I--I could have
died for her.

There wasn't a bright lad in Glanwern that didn't envy the luck of Hugh
Anwyl; and, rightly enough, too; for I swear, though I've travelled
north, south, east, and west, and have met with women of all nations,
not once have I ever found the equal of Rhoda Howell. I almost shrink
from speaking her name. It seems--well, _sacred_! Poor Rhoda! like a
flower of spring, you died early! Yes, indeed, ours ain't one of them
love tales which comes all right at t'other end of the book. She's in
heaven; and Hugh Anwyl--he ain't just exactly in the other place; but
he's not so very far off neither, being afloat, and registered John
Jones, A.B.

To come back to my yarn, indeed.

One clear autumn evening, when the sun was lighting up the heather on
the sides of Cader Idris, you might, if you'd a-happened to be there,
have beheld a scene which the whole world don't show out of North Wales,
me and my girl, Rhoda, was walking, cosy-like, through a quiet bit of
wood, where none could hear, and I don't think I ever felt my heart so
swell with joy as I did that moment, when she says, says she, beating
her foot on the grass, "Shall I tell you a secret?"

"Yes," I answers, just glancing at her, and seeing her lips come over
pale.

"Will you promise me," she asks, "to keep it?"

"Promise!" I cries out; "I'll _swear_!" You see, I was getting
curious.

She looks at me serious--yes, indeed, very serious. Then she whispers,
quite confidential-like, "I've got a lover!"

"What!" I bellows, quite savage. It didn't take much to make me
jealous; and I felt as if I would have killed a rival ker-slap.

She smiles, in a faint sort of a fashion. Then she mutters, just as if
the trees were all a-listening to us with ears instead of leaves, "I
shan't say, unless you'll agree to be sensible."

A kind of a sulky feeling come over me, my boys, at her teasing words;
but I told her I'd always do exactly, indeed, as she wished.

"Then," says she, with a wry face, "it's David Thomas. He've been to
father this morning, and asked for me. Yes, indeed!"

"I--I'll fight the lubber!" I sings out, forgetful of my promise.

"Hush!" she whispe