“Come and play! Gwyn, come and play! “ called the children of Llangybi to the merry boy who lived at the mill in the valley. But Gwyn did not follow them to the riverbank. He climbed the mountainside alone. The children thought, he had gone to gather flowers, but Gwyn was searching in the grass for more of the strange brass coins he had found two days before. “They are fairy coins!” Gwyn’s mother had said when he showed them to her. “We will put them on the fire. No good will come to us if we hoard them.” Gwyn had been disappointed, he would liked to have kept the coins with their strange designs. “Promise me, Gwyn,” said his mother “that if you see the Elfin people you will not play with them.” Gwyn had promised. He remembered his promise now as he climbed the hill. He hung his head in shame. He knew he had come that way in search of the little fairy folk. Would he find them? Scarcely had he taken another step when he saw a little Elf, dressed in green, with a buttercup set jauntily on his head. The little man did not speak but beckoned with his hand. Gwyn followed where he led the way down a long dark tunnel. Turning around Gwyn saw a clump of moss growing at the entrance. For two years nothing more was heard of Gwyn. “A beautiful sunrise,” said Gwyn’s mother, as she opened the door early one summer’s morning. “It’ll be a fine day today” “Hullo mother!” Gwyn was seated on the doorstep. He ran forward and kissed her. “Gwyn has come back! Gwyn has come back!” his mother called excitedly. The miller ran to the door and gathered Gwyn into his arms. “He hasn’t changed the tiniest bit in all these years,” they cried. “Never never will we let him out of our sight again. Where have you been, all this time?” they asked when Gwyn had eaten his breakfast. “All this time?” echoed Gwyn. “Why have I been away long. It was only yesterday that I went away from the children to climb the hillside.” “Not yesterday little son,” said the miller gently. “You have been away a long time.” “Yes. I-I went through a long dark tunnel after the elfin messenger,” began Gwyn. He grew silent trying to remember the things that had happened to him, but try as he would the memories of his frolics in Elfin land escaped him. “Never mind Gwyn,” his mother comforted him. “The important thing is that you are back. Yet Gwyn continued to puzzle. “See mother. They gave me beautiful clothes when I left them.” He opened his bundle and took out trousers of green satin, and a jerkin of russet and gold. His parents looked at each other. “If he wears those clothes he will disappear again,” said the miller. “If that is so, we must not let him have the chance of wearing them,” said his wife. She poked the fire into a blaze, placed the fairy bundle on it, and set it alight. “That I trust, is the end of that,” she said. But the burning of the clothes did not end Gwyn’s adventures with the elves. Some time later the miller’s family grew very poor. Ships laden with corn had been lost in the Irish sea, and the mill became silent and empty. “We are very poor, my dear wife,” said the miller one night as they sat before their small fire. “It is not your fault Ifan,” answered his wife. “We must think of something that will help us in our need.” “There’s always the treasure of Pentyrch,” said the miller and he laughed. “What is that father?” asked Gwyn who had been listening quietly. “It is nothing little son, just a folk tale. You know the great crag at Pentyrch beyond Llangybi? They say that a crock of gold has been buried beneath it.” “Let us try and get it father,” cried Gwyn, jumping up with excitement. “It would be a foolish quest little son” the miller shook his head and began to think of other things. But Gwyn persisted: “Do try father do try.” The mother was preparing a scanty supper. She smiled at Gwyn’s faith in the old folk tale. “Promise the child Ifan, you will be none the worse for trying.” “I’ll be none the worse, but I’ll be none the better either.” The miller smiled sadly. “But I will promise. It will be something for Shon and Lewis to do tomorrow. I have no work for them at the mill. Gwyn rose early next morning to go with his father and the men to the great crag at Pentyrch. Three of the strongest horses went with them, and the men carried great coils of rope. As they passed through Llangybi, men asked whither they were going. They told their errand. The miller had many friends in the district, and they were all sorry for the misfortune that had befallen the family. When the miller arrived at the crag, it was to find all the horses of the neighbourhood had been brought there to help in the task of removing the great rock. “Heave away! Heave away!” cried the men. “You can heave away till daybreak,” snarled a cruel man who was an enemy of the miller. “Nothing will move that crag.” “Yes it will, I know it will!” Gwyn clenched his fists in anger at the man’s words. He must do something to help his parents in their distress! He ran away from the crag to the place where he had been playing when he entered the Elfin Land. A group of elves were dancing there, but they stopped when they saw Gwyn and beckoned to him. “I cannot come with you today,” Gwyn explained breathlessly “but I wish you would help me.” “What can we do?” they asked. “Can you help me get some money? My parents are very poor, and we have not enough food,” Gwyn explained. “We will help you all we can,” said the elves and they began to dance and sing. “But please help me now!” cried Gwyn, growing impatient at the delay. The elfin king came near to him. He held out his sceptre and spoke with authority. “There is a great crock full of gold awaiting you under the mighty crag of Pentyrch. “Yes, yes I know,” said Gwyn. Tears filled his eyes. Was this all the help the elves could give him? “We have been trying there, but although the horses of the parish have been helping to pull, nothing will remove the great rock.” “I know that,” said the king. Then he looked at Gwyn and asked very quietly, “Have you tried to remove the crag?” Gwyn shook his head. “Go back,” said the king, “I command you to push the stone alone. You shall see what happens.” Gwyn thanked the king and raced back to the Pentyrch crag even more quickly than he had raced to the hillside. “Father Mother listen!” he cried, and he told then what the elfin king had ordered him to do. The miller and his wife shook their heads and smiled. Yet they were in such distress that the miller said “Very well little son. You may try.” The people drew aside and Gwyn made his way alone to the great rock. He placed his small hand on it and pushed. The crag rocked and then rolled headlong down the hillside to the dingle below. In the hollow where the rock had been, was a crock of gold. Gwyn claimed it. The miller and his wife were rich for the rest of their lives, and when Gwyn was grown up, enjoying the good things of life, he did not forget his village friends, nor the little elfin folk who had brought him his good fortune.
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