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Garthowen A Story of a Welsh Homestead By: Allen Raine (1836-1908) |
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GARTHOWEN A Story of a Welsh Homestead. by ALLEN RAINE. Author of "Torn Sails," "A Welsh Singer,"
"By Berwen Banks," Etc. Sixty Fifth Thousand
London
Hutchinson & Co.
Paternoster Row
CONTENTS CHAP. I. A Turn of the Road
II. "Garthowen"
III. Morva of the Moor
IV. The Old Bible
V. The Sea Maiden
VI. Gethin's Presents
VII. The Broom Girl
VIII. Garthowen Slopes
IX. The North Star
X. The Cynos
XI. Unrest
XII. Sara's Vision
XIII. The Bird Flutters
XIV. Dr. Owen
XV. Gwenda's Prospects
XVI. Isderi
XVII. Gwenda at Garthowen
XVIII. Sara
XIX. The "Sciet"
XX. Love's Pilgrimage
XXI. The Mate of the "Gwenllian"
XXII. Gethin's Story
XXIII. Turned Out!
XXIV. A Dance on the Cliffs
GARTHOWEN
CHAPTER I A TURN OF THE ROAD It was a typical July day in a large seaport town of South Wales.
There had been refreshing showers in the morning, giving place to a
murky haze through which the late afternoon sun shone red and round.
The small kitchen of No. 2 Bryn Street was insufferably hot, in spite
of the wide open door and window. A good fire burnt in the grate,
however, for it was near tea time, and Mrs. Parry knew that some of her
lodgers would soon be coming in for their tea. One had already
arrived, and, sitting on the settle in the chimney corner, was holding
an animated conversation with his landlady, who stood before him, one
hand akimbo on her side, the other brandishing a toasting fork. Her
beady black eyes, her brick red cheeks and hanks of coarse hair, were
not beautiful to look upon, though to day they were at their best, for
the harsh voice was softened, and there was a humid gentleness in the
eyes not habitual to them. Her companion was a young man about
twenty three years of age, dark, almost swarthy of hue, tanned by the
suns and storms of foreign seas and many lands, As he sat there in the
shade of the settle one caught a glance of black eyes and a gleam of
white teeth, but the easy, lounging attitude did not show to advantage
the splendid build of Gethin Owens. One of his large brown fists,
resting on the rough deal table, was covered with tattooed
hieroglyphics, an anchor, a mermaid, and a heart, of course! Anyone
conversant with the Welsh language would have divined at once, by the
long drawn intonation of the first words in every remark, that the
subject of conversation was one of sad or tender interest. "Well, indeed," said Mrs. Parry, "the r e's missing you I'll be,
Gethin! We are coming from the same place, you see, and you are
knowing all about me, and I about you, and that I supp o s e is making
me feel more like a mother to you than to the other lodgers." "Well, you have been like a mother to me, mending my clothes and
watching me so sharp with the drink. Dei anwl! I don't think I ever
took a glass with a friend without you finding me out, and calling me
names. 'Drunken blackguard!' you called me one night, when as sure as
I'm here I had only had a bottle of gingerpop in Jim Jones's shop," and
he laughed boisterously. "Well, well," said Mrs. Parry, "if I wronged you then, be bound you
deserved the blame some other time, and 'twas for your own good I was
telling you, my boy. Indeed, I wish I was going home with you to the
old neighbourhood. The r e's glad they'll be to see you at Garthowen." "Well, I don't know how my father will receive me," said her companion
thoughtfully. "Ann and Will I am not afraid of, but the old man he
was very angry with me." "What did you do long ago to make him so angry, Gethin? I have heard
Tom Powell and Jim Bowen blaming him very much for being so hard to his
eldest son; they said he was always more fond of Will than you, and was
often beating you." "Halt!" said Gethin, bringing his fist down so heavily on the table
that the tea things jingled, "not a word against the old man the best
father that ever walked, and I was the worst boy on Garthowen slopes,
driving the chickens into the water, shooing the geese over the hedges,
riding the horses full pelt down the stony roads, setting fire to the
gorse bushes, mitching from school, and making the boys laugh in
chapel; no wonder the old man turned me away... Continue reading book >>
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