I know a Rev.David Jones very well?
a clergyman too--' 'Oh! if you could only tell me where to find him.

I would go anywhere for my poor mother's sake!' The girl clasped her hands and looked imploringly at Owen.

He was silenced by the appeal of the eyes he did not believe in.

Mrs Prothero glanced at him reproachfully, and said,-- 'It is such a common Welsh name that I am afraid it would be no guide to you, unless you would remember the place where he lived.' 'I daresay it began with Llan,' broke in Owen.
'I am almost sure it did,' said Gladys; 'but mother never liked to talk of the place,' 'What do you say, mother, to writing to the Rev.David Jones, Llan., etc., Carmarthenshire ?' Netta laughed aloud; she could not help it; whilst Gladys again looked upon the ground.
'Owen,' whispered Mrs Prothero, taking her son's arm and leading him away, 'what is a joke to you is death to her, remember that.' 'There, don't be angry, mother; I will help her to do her work to-morrow.' 'He was as good as his word, and the following day resolutely kept near the poor, timid girl, aiding her to bind up the full-eared corn, and carrying it himself for her to the mows, into which they were hastily forming the sheaves for fear of rain.

He could not resist occasionally alluding to Mr David Jones, but receiving no encouragement to carry out the jest, and finding her as silent and shy as a frightened child, he gave up the subject, and with it all attempt at conversation.