CHAPTER XIII.

THE WIDOW.

‘Whose grand groom is that, half afraid to ride through the yard?’ asked Mr Prothero, as he and his son Owen were standing by the big wheat-mow, awaiting the arrival of a load of corn.

‘I’ll go and see what he wants,’ said Owen, and off he went.

He returned, bearing a note for his father.

’He says he is Mr Griffith Jenkins’s groom, and waits for an answer.  Howel doesn’t do the thing by halves anyhow.’

‘Mr Griffith Jackanapes!’ said the farmer, breaking the seal of the note hastily, and reading it.

Owen watched his countenance assume an angry expression, and then heard him utter a very broad Welsh oath.

‘Tell that feller there’s no answer,’ said Mr Prothero.

‘What is it about father? you had better let mother see it first.’

’The impudent young ass! does he think I am to be taken in by all that gold and plush?  He shall never have my consent, and you may tell him so, Owen.’

‘Come into the house a minute, father, and let us see the note.’

They went into the house, the farmer giving an indignant grunt at the groom as he passed.

‘Mother, come here!’ he roared as he entered the parlour, followed by Owen.

The obedient wife left her kitchen and went to her husband.

‘Read you it out loud, Owen.’

Owen read.

’SIR,—­Being in a position to marry, and to marry any lady in the county, I think you need not be surprised at my now aspiring to the hand of your daughter, to whom I have been many years attached.  I beg, therefore, to say that my object in writing to you is, to ask your permission to pay my addresses to her, and to make her my wife.  My attorney will see to any arrangements you may require as regards settlements, which are matters of no importance to me,—­I remain, sir, your obedient servant,

     ‘HOWEL GRIFFITH JENKINS.’

‘The impudent scoundrel!’ said Mr Prothero.

‘Well, father, I don’t see—­’ began Owen.

’You don’t see, sir, I daresay you don’t.  Wasn’t he as near ruining you as possible!  Didn’t he teach you to gamble, and fleece you, and lead you into all kinds of mischief?  Didn’t I forbid him the house for it?  Didn’t he rob his own father, and make his mother miserable?  Didn’t he drink and keep company with the worst profligates of the country?  Didn’t he as good as rob me, sir, out of a ten-pound note when he was a bit of a boy, and when I found it out, called it a lark?  Do you think a great fortune will all of a sudden change such a chap as that into an honest man?  No, what’s ill got is ill spent, and old Giffrey Jenkins’s money ’ill never turn to good account.  He that grinds the poor, and goes against scripture as a usurer, ’ill never find his son do well.  Howel shall never have my consent to marry Netta, and there’s an end of it.’