Zona Gale

“ THOUGH the sun was warm on the golden-gray meadow slope, it was not there that the little shepherdess loved to lead her flock. The crests of the hills were swimming in soft light, and breaths from flowered orchards yielded their way over the hills, but it was not there either that she lay in the long mornings. For it is the great green lowlands of Wales that are richest with early Spring magic, and it was in a magic lowland, hill-cradled, that Llorien fed her white flock in Spring. ”

“ Llorien was of woman's years, but her face was like the very early flowers. When flowers have not yet seen the sun-bow of a whole day from white east to red west, their little faces are not really alive; it is only after they have borne light, and have been with dew and stars, and have endured a night, that they understand the human eyes that look upon them. And little Llorien's face was like the very early flowers.
For years she had lived alone with old Glaunt, her father. Glaunt was a shepherd, and his image remained always in the hearts of those who had once looked upon him. ”

“ And, while he told her of the knights, and how, though Arthur had been buried at Avalon, where her sheep came from, his body was inhumed at Glastonbury, and how Guinevere's long hair of plaited gold was found untouched by death—a black shadow loomed near, and Llorien turned with a cry to see her father watching them. When he heard what Ronald was telling her, Glaunt nodded in silence and walked away. ”

“ Llorien did not understand, but she was very happy.
“Tell me about your friends,” said Ronald.
Llorien began at once. “There is the white thrush,” she said, “he is first. Then there is old Gervyl, and she tells me about the countries where all the fairies are dead, and it makes me cry. There is her boy, whose brain has got wrong—but he knows where the greenest little eggs are, and he never breaks them. And there is Cynan, who takes a long time to eat, and shakes the table when he laughs. If Cynan were to come here now, he would not see you. He wouldn't see anything but how fat the sheep are. ”

“ One morning Llorien rose with a happy heart and her mind filled with a dream. Not that her mind was ever seriously filled with anything but dreams, but she usually wove them while she woke, and this was a dream of sleep. When she had made breakfast for her father, she took a little skin of milk, and a basket of reeds, filled with goat's cheese and bread and berries, and she set off across the grass for the lowland, singing as she went, so that any little night people, left by chance in the meadow, might hear her in time, and escape. ”

“ He was early—earlier than Llorien, and he had a capful of brown and pink witch-wort by the time she came over the hill, surrounded by her white sheep.
“You are real, after all,” he cried, joyously, hastening to her, “or you would not have come again!”
She smiled, and sat down on a great Druid temple-stone, and beckoned him beside her.
“It is strange of you, Wood-God,” she said, “always to talk about things being real. What difference can that make? We are both here.”
Ronald shook his head, a little wistfully.
“It is not enough,” he said, as a man will say. ”

“ This she was always unwilling to do, for the long, warm hours in the field were her delight. All day, she lay deep in the scented grass, facing the south where gloomed a purple wood—the Wood of Ydren. ”

“ Ronald looked after the black figure of Glaunt, having the austerity and distinction of an old Norman king.He noted the little silver wild flower tucked in his hat.
“I think he can,” said Ronald, nodding, “yes, I think that your father would see.”
“Old Gervyl can see you,” said Llorien, “she has come often to the wall and looked across. But she talks with fairies. She is not afraid. Only Cynan could not see you.”
“Who is Cynan?” asked Ronald, curiously. “You speak often of him; who is he?” ”