Owen and Netta were with their mother, and as they approached, Gladys rose, curtseyed, and was going away, when Owen made an unnatural kind of whistle, as if to frighten away some cows in the distance.

Gladys started, and with a terrified face glanced at him.

He found that she had very beautiful, violet eyes, with lashes so long and black, that when she looked to the earth again they made a strange contrast to her pale face.
'What sad, uncomfortable eyes,' thought Owen; 'I must have another glance at them by-and-by.

If she had a colour she might be pretty, as mother says, but it makes one ill to look at her.' 'Do you think,' said Mrs Prothero, addressing Gladys, 'that you could manage to help in the harvest; My husband says he will employ you, if you can.' 'Oh, thank you, my lady! I would do my best, and if I could only stay here longer under any circumstances--I should--oh, be so thankful!' This was said with much hesitation.
'Very well, then; if you will try to-morrow we shall be able to judge what you can do.' 'She don't look strong enough to bind the sheaves,' said Owen.
'I will try, sir, if you please,' said Gladys.
'What is the name of the friends you are seeking ?' asked Owen with a glance at his sister.
'Jones, sir,' replied Gladys, again looking at Owen.
'Perhaps there is a David in the family ?' asked Owen.
'I believe that my grandfather's name was David,' was the reply.
'Now, if you walk through Carmarthenshire, and just ask every one you meet if they know David Jones, I am sure you would find him.

It is astonishing what a powerful name David Jones is.