“No odds, little man.  Ach y fy, jealous other milkmen are of us.  There’s nasty some people are.”

“Natty shop you have.  Little shop and big traffic, Mistress Jinkins?”

“Quick you are.”

“Know you Tom Mathias Tabernacle Street?” Evan inquired.

“Seen him have I in the big meetings at Capel King’s Cross.”

“Getting on he is, for certain sure.  Hundreds of pints he sells.  And groceries.”

“Pwf,” Mrs. Jenkins sneered.  “Fulbert you are to believe him.  A liar without shame is Twm.  And a cheat.  Bad sampler he is of the Welsh.”

“Speak I do as I hear.  More thriving is your concern.”

“No boast is in me.  But don’t we do thirty gallons?”

Evan summoned up surprise into his face, and joy.  “Dear me to goodness,” he exclaimed.  “Take something must I now.  Sell you me an egg.”

Evan shook the egg at his ear.  “She is good,” he remarked.

“Weakish is the male,” observed Mrs. Jenkins.  “Much trouble he has in his inside.”

“Poor bach,” replied Evan.  “Well-well.  Fair night for to-day.”

“Why for you are in a hurry?”

“Woman fach, for what you do not know that I abide in Wandsworth and the clock is late?”

Mrs. Jenkins laughed.  “Boy pretty sly you are.  Come you to Richmond to buy one egg.”

Evan coughed and spat upon the ground, and while he cleaned away his spittle with a foot he said:  “Courting business have I on the Thursdays.  The wench is in a shop draper.”

“How shall I mouth where she is?  With Wright?”

“In shop Breach she is.”  He spoke this in English:  “So long.”

In that language also did Mrs. Jenkins answer him:  “Now we shan’t be long.”

Narrowing his eyes and crooking his knees, Evan stood before Mary.  “Like to find out more would I,” he said.  “Guess did the old female that I had seen the adfertissment.”

“Blockhead you are to bare your mind,” Mary admonished him.

“Why for you call me blockhead when there’s no blockhead to be?”

“Sorry am I, dear heart.  But do you hurry to marry me.  You know that things are so and so.  The month has shown nothing.”

“Shut your head, or I’ll change my think altogether.”

The next week Evan called at the dairy shop again.

“How was the people?” he cried on the threshold.

Mrs. Jenkins opened the window which was at the back of her, and called out:  “The boy from Wales is here, Dai.”

Stooping as he moved through the way of the door, Dai greeted Evan civilly:  “How was you this day?”

“Quite grand,” Evan answered.

“What capel do you go?”

“Walham Green, dear man.”

“Good preach there was by the Respected Eynon Daviss the last Sabbath morning, shall I ask?  Eloquent is Eynon.”

“In the night do I go.”

“Solemn serious, go you ought in the mornings.”