GETHIN'S PRESENTS The corn harvest had commenced, and Ebben Owens was up and out early in the cornfields.

Will, too, was there, but with scant interest in the work.

It had never been a labour of love with him, and now that fresh hopes and prospects were dawning upon him, the farm duties seemed more insignificant and tedious than ever.

Had it been Gethin who stretched himself and yawned as he attacked the first swathe of corn, Ebben Owens would have called him a "lazy lout," but as it was Will, he only jokingly rallied him upon his want of energy.
"Come, come," he said, "thee'st not got thy gown and bands on yet.
We'll have hard work to finish this field by sunset; another hand wouldn't be amiss." "Here it is, then," said a pleasant, jovial voice, as a sunburnt man came through the gap, holding out his brown right hand to Ebben Owens.
The other he stretched towards Will, who had thrown his sickle away, and was hastily approaching.
No human heart could have steeled itself against that frank countenance and beaming smile, certainly no father's.

There was no questioning "Who art thou ?" for in both father's and brother's hearts leaped up the warm feeling of kinship.
"Gethin!" said Ebben Owens, clasping the hand held out to him so genially.