MORNING SERIAL

PLENTY of time. He was happy with Sally. And happiness was such a rare joy. Let his books and studies wait.

His attitude, this sudden show of disinterest in the ambition that had fired him, troubled Frank a great deal. He had spoken to Ieuan concerning it one night, when, after a prolonged absence, he called at the house in Prospect Place.

“You’d be a fool to give up, now,” he said with conviction. “Think of the chances you are throwing away. Why, many a young chap would give his right hand to be in your shoes. Don’t be rash, Ieuan.

“You’ve got brains, so use them! Do I have to tell you all over again of the mistake I made when I was your age? I thought you wanted to be a writer. By God, Ieuan, sometimes I feel I could kick you – honest, I do. How can you expect to get anywhere if you’re not prepared to sacrifice? Stay in the foundry for the rest of your life, like me — and then you’ll curse yourself for not making the most of your opportunities when you had the chance.”

Frank had spoken vehemently, and he had been angered by Ieuan’s excuses. And now, Sally was equally alarmed.

They walked up the path until they came to an open glade. It was a clear, bright day. A day when the sky seemed so close to the earth that Ieuan felt he could reach up and touch it with his fingertips. The air was fresh and sweet. Near by a small stream trickled musically into a brown pool. Pink stone islands from which green reeds sprouted, peered above the water.

“Shall we sit here, Ieuan?” Sally took the basket and sat down to prepare the picnic. Ieuan lay on his back and shaded his eyes from the strong rays of sunshine that pierced the tree tops. He listened to the stream as it sang on its way into the pool.

He was happy. Happy as the sun glittering on the waters of the stream like the laughter of a child. Then Sally spoke. “Ieuan – I’m worried over you.” He raised his head and laughed.