Through Welsh Doorways - Jeannette Augustus Marks - Bog

"Has it come? Did ye hear it?" The old man clasped and unclasped his hands helplessly, childish disappointment overspreading his face. "David dear, if ye'd but listen to what I was a-goin' to say"-Annie gulped-"I was a-goin' to say that I've not heard the cuckoo yet, but that everythin' 's over early an' I'm expectin' to hear one any time now. It's so warm there might be one singin' at dusk to-day-there might be!" "Might there be?" asked David, his eyes brightening, "might there be, Annie?" "Aye, there might be, lad," and she lifted his head on her arm gently while she turned the pillow. "It's over early," he objected, "an', Annie--" "Davie dear, be still," she commanded, drawing his head close to her bosom before she put him down on the pillow again. "Pastor Morris says everythin' 's over early; even the foxglove is well up in the garden; an' the heather by Blaen Cwm will be bloomin' a month early, an' the hills will be pink, lad-soon.