"Of course," Eirlys replied. Her eyes shone with pleasure.
"Mam and Dad want it," said Gwyn, by way of explanation, "and. . and so do I, of course!"
The weather changed. December brought sun instead of snow. The wind was warm and smelled of damp leaves and overripe apples.
Gwyn took Eirlys on his mountain, and she saw it in sunshine. Before she had only glimpsed it at dusk, through a mist of snow. Now she saw the colors that he loved, the buzzards hunting low over the fields, the rosy clouds drifting above the plateau. Gwyn had not realized that he would enjoy the company of a girl. But then Eirlys was not like other girls.
They leaped and sometimes slipped upon wet stones in the tumbling streams. They ran, arms outstretched, along the stone walls, scattering the sheep that dozed there. They chased crows that hopped like black thieves behind the leafless trees. And somehow Gwyn's father always seemed to be there, watching them from a distance or walking nearby with his dog and his blackthorn stick, listening to their voices. After tea he began to whistle in his workshop, and Gwyn realized he hardly recognized the sound. Even his mother looked up, astonished, from her ironing.
In the evening, while it was still light enough to see the trees, the children walked in the orchard. Gwyn told Eirlys about Nain and the five gifts, about the power that had come to him from Gwydion, and how he had hit Dewi Davis without a stone. He told her about the silver ship that had caused all his trouble at school. Unlike Alun, Eirlys believed him. She did not think it strange that a ship had fallen out of the sky. Even so, Gwyn did not mention the snow spider. He was still wary of confiding too much. "I'll take you to see my grandmother," he told the girl. Nain would know whether he could tell Eirlys about the cobwebs.
Later, he asked his parents if Eirlys could come again, so that they could visit Nain.
"Why can't she stay the night?" Mr. Griffiths suggested. "She can sleep in Bethan's room."
"No!" cried Mrs. Griffiths. And then more quietly she added, "It's. . it's just that the room isn't ready!"
Nothing more was said just then, but when Mr. Griffiths had returned from his trip to the Herberts he suddenly remarked, "Shall we ask the girl for Christmas? She can stay a day or two, and there'll be time to get the room ready."
"No!" his wife said again. "No! It's my Bethan's room."
"But she isn't here, Mam," Gwyn said gently.
"It's waiting for her, though," his mother reproached him.
"But Eirlys could sleep there," Gwyn persisted. "The room is ready — I looked in. The bed is made, and the patchwork quilt is on it. The cupboards are shiny and all the dolls are there. It's such a waste!"
"Yes, all the dolls are there!" cried Mrs. Griffiths. She sank into a chair and bent her head, covering her face with her hands. "You don't seem to care anymore, either of you. It's my daughter's room, my Bethan's. Her bed, her dolls, her place."
Her husband and her son stood watching her, sad and helpless. How could they tell her that it did not matter if Bethan was not with them, because now there was Eirlys?
"We won't discuss it now," said Mr. Griffiths. "But I've already agreed to fetch the girl tomorrow. Be kind while she's here. She's an orphan, remember."
"I won't upset her," Mrs. Griffiths said. "I'm sorry for her. She's just not my Bethan."
When Gwyn took Eirlys to visit his grandmother the following afternoon, Nain was waiting by the gate. She had dressed carefully for the occasion in an emerald green dress and scarlet stockings. Round her neck she wore a rope of grass green beads long enough to touch the silver buckle on her belt. From each ear swung a tiny golden cage with a silver bird tinkling inside it.
Eirlys was most impressed. "How beautiful you look," she said, and won Nain's heart.
Gwyn noticed that his grandmother could not take her eyes off the girl. She watched her every move, hungrily, like a bright-eyed cat might watch a bird. "Eirlys!" she murmured, "that's Welsh for 'snowdrop'. So we have a snowflower among us!"
After they had sipped their tea and eaten cake that tasted of cinnamon and rosemary, Gwyn told his grandmother about the ship and about Dewi Davis's nose. Eirlys wandered round the room, touching the china, the beads, and the plants. She studied the pictures in the dusty books and tied colored scarves around her head.
Nain was not surprised to hear about the silver ship. She merely nodded and said, "Ah, yes! You have nearly reached what you wanted, Gwydion Gwyn. But be careful! Don't do anything foolish!"
"Shall I tell Eirlys about the spider?" Gwyn asked his grandmother. "Should she know about the cobwebs and that other world?"
"Of course," said Nain, "though I believe she knows already."
They left the cottage before dark. Nain followed them to the gate, and as they set off up the path she called again, "Be careful!"
Gwyn was not listening to his grandmother. He had begun to tell Eirlys about the spider. He realized that he had not seen Arianwen for several days and wondered where she was.
When they got back to the farmhouse, Mrs. Griffiths was upstairs, sewing the hem on her new bedroom curtains. Her husband was cleaning the Land Rover. He had used it to transport a new batch of pullets from the Lloyds' that morning, and they had made more of a mess than he had bargained for.
Gwyn told Eirlys to wait in the kitchen while he fetched the pipe and the spider from his attic room. When he returned she was sitting in the armchair by the stove. The light was fading, but a tiny slither of winter sun had crept through the swaying branches of the apple tree and into the kitchen window. The light glimmered on the girl in the armchair, and Gwyn had to stop and take a breath before he said, "You are the girl in the web, Eirlys!"
"Am I?" she said.
"Yes, it was you! I knew it all the time, but I couldn't see how You're like my sister, too. Where have you come from, Eirlys?"
The girl just smiled her inscrutable smile and asked, "Where is the spider?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I looked in the drawer, on top of the cupboard, and under the bed. I couldn't find her."
Eirlys looked concerned. "Where can she be?"
Gwyn shrugged. "I don't know. She's been gone before, but only for a day. I haven't seen her for nearly a week."
His father called through the front door, "Time to go, Eirlys. Are you ready?"
Eirlys stood up. "You must find the spider, Gwyn," she said. "She's precious! She will make it possible for you to see whatever you want, and when I—"
"When you what?" Gwyn demanded.
"I can't say, just yet," Eirlys replied. And then she disappeared into the hallway and ran out of the house before Gwyn had time to think of another question.
He watched the lights of the Land Rover flickering on the lane and then went upstairs to his room. This time he shook the curtains, felt under the carpet and, beginning to panic, emptied the contents of every drawer onto the floor. Arianwen was not there.
He went down to the kitchen to see his mother. "Have you seen that spider?" he inquired.
"I've seen too many spiders," Mrs. Griffiths replied. She was rolling pastry on the kitchen table and did not look up when she spoke.
"But have you seen my own particular spider?"
"I saw one, yes. It could have been the one." Mrs. Griffiths rolled and rolled the pastry without even a glance toward Gwyn. "It was different," she went on, "a sort of gray."
"Silver!" Gwyn corrected her. "Where was it?"
"Here. On the curtain."
"Did you catch it?"