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directly across from Haydn.
    â€œNo,” said Haydn. “It’s an authentic John Owen and it’s been in my family since Adam were a lad. Lived all its life right here in Llanelen, it has.”
    â€œWhat did he tell you about it?” Evan Hughes asked.
    â€œNot that much, really,” said Haydn reaching into his pocket. “But when he pulled it out a bit from the wall and reached round the back, he found this.” He held up the piece of paper. “Rolled up, it was, and stuffed into the moulding that goes round the base of the clock.”
    â€œWhat is it?” asked one of the men. “It doesn’t look like a banknote from where I’m sitting!” The others laughed and Haydn shook his head.
    â€œNo, it isn’t. It looks like one half of a map.” He passed it to the man on his right who glanced at it, then passed it on. It circulated around the table until it came to Evan Hughes.
    â€œWhat do you think this is meant to be?” he asked, tilting the paper to catch the light while he peered at it, and then turning it over so he could see if anything was written on the back.
    â€œI have no idea what it is or where it came from,” replied Haydn. “He found it just before he left, the fellow did. I haven’t a clue what it means or how long it was hidden in that clock. But a long time would be my guess.”
    They marveled at the map for a few minutes and then the conversation moved on to the most important element in a farmer’s life: the weather. The long-range forecast predicted a hot, dry summer, which boded well for their hay making. Too much rain before the mown hay can dry properly and it becomes a rotten, inedible, wasted mess, leaving the farmer with nothing to feed his ewes over the winter. Evan Hughes drained the last of the beer in his glass and set it on the table.
    â€œIt’s your turn to get the round in, Haydn,” one of the farmers said to him.
    â€œSame again all round, is it?” Haydn asked. A chorus of agreement answered his question, although most said they’d just have half a pint this time as they were driving and you couldn’t get away with driving home from the pub with some drink in you like you could in the old days. Kip raised his head as Haydn walked past him on his way to the bar, then lowered it as soon as he realized it wasn’t time yet to go home.
    Haydn paid for the drinks for everyone at his table and returned to his place. “She’s bringing them over,” he said. Seeing the empty seat beside him, he turned to the man on his right.
    â€œEvan hasn’t gone home, has he? I did hear that his wife was a bit poorly. She wasn’t in church on Sunday and it’s not like her to miss a service.”
    â€œNo, no,” the man reassured him. “Just gone to the gents. He’ll be back.” The barmaid arrived at their table balancing a tray laden with glasses. She set down five beer mats and placed a glass on top of each one, picking up their empty glasses as she worked her way around the table. She then wiped up the wet rings that had formed on the table where glasses had been set directly on it.
    â€œComing back, is he?” she said when she reached Evan Hughes’s place. Just as she finished her question the man himself appeared and picked a glass off her tray.
    â€œThanks, love,” he said as he sat down.
    She moved on to the last man and then paused and looked down. After serving him, she bent over and picked a piece of paper off the floor. “This belong to any of you?” she asked, holding it up.
    â€œOh, aye, that’s Haydn’s map,” said one. She handed it to Haydn and he set it on the table.
    â€œI wouldn’t put it there if I were you,” said Evan Hughes. “The table’s damp from the glasses and if there’s a spill your map’s had it.”
    â€œGood point,” said Haydn. “I haven’t had a chance