From Across the Ancient Waters Read Online Free PDF Page A

s–s–s–sand.”
    “Where, Gwyneth?” asked Barrie calmly.
    “In th–th–th—In the c–c–c–cave, P–P–Papa.”
    “Where, Gwyneth?”
    “B–by the w–w–water. I stumbled over it and fell d–d–down.”
    Her father stroked her wild hair and gently rocked her in his arms. Gradually she calmed.
    “Are you hurt, little one?” the miner asked.
    “No, Papa,” Gwyneth replied, leaning her head against his chest. Already the cave apparition was beginning to fade. Since she was not one ruled by fear, neither did she cling to it on the rare occasions it visited her. She was happy to let it go. She would soon laugh at the memory.
    Assuming his daughter had seen some oddly shaped stone, or perhaps come upon a fragment of sheep bone fallen from the plateau above, Barrie thought it best to avoid further mention of it.
    The two chatted casually a few minutes.
    “Shall we have some tea, Gwyneth?” asked the father at length.
    “Yes, Papa,” she replied, jumping down from his lap. “I will boil water.” She ran across the floor, picked up a small iron kettle, and dashed outside.
    Her father rose and followed her toward the small kitchen that occupied half of the larger of the cottage’s two rooms. Upon arriving home, he had restoked the stove with coal and already begun water boiling for potatoes. He now bent to check the fire again then tossed in a second small shovel of fuel from the scuttle.
    A moment later, Gwyneth lugged in the kettle of fresh water. She placed it on the stove.
    He tossed a handful of potatoes into the iron pot, now beginning to steam, beside it. “Did you get bread from Grannie, Gwyneth?” he asked.
    Her face fell. “I forgot, Papa,” she answered. “I meant to after I went down to the sea. But I forgot and ran straight home instead.”
    “No harm done. We shall go see Grannie together while the potatoes boil.”
    Adjusting the flue of the stove, Barrie turned and took his daughter’s hand. They left the cottage together and made their way down the sloping hillside toward the sea and to the village of Llanfryniog.

S IX
    Trouble in Glasgow
    A sneaking figure of a lanky youth of sixteen sprinted along a wide Glasgow street. The echo of tinkling glass from a breaking shop window faded behind him. In his hand he clutched the booty he had retrieved through it.
    He had no need of the antique sterling silver mug. Neither did he have the slightest interest in whatever money it might fetch. The shiny object struck a momentary fancy as he passed, nothing more. Mere seconds after spotting it, a brick from a nearby alley crashed through the window. The next instant he was sprinting along Gallowgate, mug in hand and a smile of youthfully devilish triumph on his face.
    The mere thrill of theft drove him. It had been brought on by neither necessity nor upbringing. The lad’s training had in fact instilled an altogether different set of values than those of the lifestyle in which he had been engaged for the past year or two.
    Unlike the most common of thieves, this youth came of wealth. His was a home highly respected in the city. He had been given all the privileges of his station yet was now doing his best to mock them. Like many adolescents—ruled by a lust for autonomy, seduced by premature self-reliance, possessed of self-gratification, and eschewing common sense in the choosing of associations—he had reached fourteen and suddenly found the constraint of goodness intolerable. Within another year, he had burst its bonds altogether. The adventure upon which he had now embarked contained just enough danger to act as a stimulant to his rebellion.
    His only creed at present was to make mischief and to do that which was certain to be “disapproved of.” That such self-indulgent behavior could make anyone truly happy was doubtful. Nevertheless, such was the lad’s
motive operandi
. And he had given himself wholeheartedly to it. Whether the training he had received in his early years would