"I have a letter here which I would like to read to you, but not this morning, as I am very busy." "All right, father--in the afternoon," said Cardo; and when Betto appeared to clear away the breakfast things he was lost in a profound reverie, his long legs stretched out before him and his hands buried deep in his pocket.
Betto tried in vain to recall him to outward surroundings by clattering her china and by sundry "h'ms" and coughs, but Cardo still remained buried in thought and jingling his money in his pocket.

At last she _accidentally_ jerked his head with her elbow.
"Hello, Betto! what is the matter ?" "My dear boy," said Betto, "did I hurt you?
Where were you so late last night ?" "Oh, out in the storm.

Have you seen my wet clothes?
I flung them out through my bedroom window; you will find them in a heap on the garden wall." "Wet clothes?
Caton pawb! did you get in the sea then ?" "Oh, yes! tumbled over and over like a pebble on the beach," he said, rising; "but you know such duckings are nothing to me; I enjoy them!" Betto looked after him with uplifted hands and eyes.
"Well, indeed! there never was such a boy! always in some mischief; but that's how boys are!" Cardo went out whistling, up the long meadow to the barren corner, where the furze bushes and wild thyme and harebells still held their own against the plough and harrow; and here, sitting in deep thought, and still whistling in a low tone, he held a long consultation with himself.
"No! I will never try again!" he said at last, as he rose and took his way to another part of the farm.
In the afternoon he entered his father's study, looking, in his manly strength, and with his bright, keen eyes, out of keeping with this dusty, faded room.

His very clothes were redolent of the breezy mountain-side.
Meurig Wynne still pored over apparently the self-same books which he was studying when we first saw him.
"Sit down, Cardo," he said, as his son entered; "I have a good deal to say to you.

First, this letter," and he hunted about amongst his papers.