Soon an inward malady seized him, and in the belief that he would not be rid of it, he called Lisbeth and Olwen, to whom both he pronounced his will.

“The Thornton East property I give you,” he said.  “Number seven for Lissi and eight for Olwen as she is.  It will be pleasant to be next door, and Lissi is not likely to marry at her age which is advanced.  Share and share alike of the furniture, and what’s left sell with the house and haff the proceeds.  If you don’t fall out in the sharing, you never will again.”

At once Lisbeth and Olwen embraced.

“My sister is my best friend,” was the testimony of the elder; “we shan’t go astray if we follow the example of the dad and mother,” was that of the younger.

“Take two or three excursion trains to Aberporth for the holidays,” said Adam, “and get a little gravel for the mother’s grave in Beulah.  And a cheap artificial wreath.  They last better than real ones.  It was in Beulah that me and your mother learnt about Jesus.”

Together Olwen and Lisbeth pledged that they would attend their father’s behests:  shunning ill-will and continually petitioning to be translated to the Kingdom of God; “but,” Lisbeth laughed falsely, “you are not going to die.  The summer will do wonders for you.”

“You are as right as a top really,” cried Olwen.

Beholding that his state was the main concern of his children, Adam counted himself blessed; knowing of a surety that the designs of God stand fast against prayer and physic, he said:  “I am shivery all over.”

A fire was kindled and coals piled upon it that it was scarce to be borne, and three blankets were spread over those which were on his bed, and three earthen bottles which held heated water were put in his bed; and yet the old man got no warmth.

“I’ll manage now alone,” said Lisbeth on the Saturday morning.  “You’ll have Jennie and her young gentleman home for Sunday.  Should he turn for the worse I’ll send for you.”

Olwen left, and in the afternoon came Jennie and Charlie from the drapery shop in which they were engaged; and sighing and sobbing she related to them her father’s will.

“If I was you, ma,” Jennie counseled, “I wouldn’t leave him too much alone with Aunt Liz.  You never can tell.  Funny things may happen.”

“I’d trust Aunt Liz anywhere,” Olwen declared, loath to have her sister charged with unfaithfulness.

“What do you think, Charlie?” asked Jennie.

The young man stiffened his slender body and inclined his pale face and rubbed his nape, and he proclaimed that there was no discourse of which the meaning was hidden from him and no device with which he was not familiar; and he answered:  “I would stick on the spot.”

That night Olwen made her customary address to God, and before she came up from her knees or uncovered her eyes, she extolled to God the acts of her father Adam.  But slumber kept from her because of that which Jennie had spoken; and diffiding the humor of her heart, she said to herself:  “Liz must have a chance of going on with some work.”  At that she slept; and early in the day she was in Cartref.