It came to be that on a morning in the last month of his thirteenth year Joseph was bidden to stand at the side of the cow which Madlen was milking and to give an ear to these commandments:  “The serpent is in the bottom of the glass.  The hand on the tavern window is the hand of Satan.  On the Sabbath eve get one penny for two ha’pennies for the plate collection.  Put money in the handkerchief corner.  Say to persons you are a nephew of Respected Essec Pugh and you will have credit.  Pick the white sixpence from the floor and give her to the mishtir; she will have fallen from his pocket trowis.”

Then Joseph turned, and carrying his yellow tin box, he climbed into the craggy moorland path which takes you to the tramping road.  By the pump of Tavarn Ffos he rested until Shim Carrier came thereby; and while Shim’s horse drank of barley water, Joseph stepped into the wagon; and at the end of the passage Shim showed him the business of getting a ticket and that of going into and coming down from a railway carriage.

In that manner did Joseph go to the drapery shop of Rees Jones in Carmarthen; and at the beginning he was instructed in the keeping and the selling of such wares as reels of cotton, needles, pins, bootlaces, mending wool, buttons, and such like—­all those things which together are known as haberdashery.  He marked how this and that were done, and in what sort to fashion his visage and frame his phrases to this or that woman.  His oncoming was rapid.  He could measure, cut, and wrap in a parcel twelve yards of brown or white calico quicker than any one in the shop, and he understood by rote the folds of linen tablecloths and bedsheets; and in the town this was said of him:  “Shopmen quite ordinary can sell what a customer wants; Pugh Rees Jones can sell what nobody wants.”

The first year passed happily, and the second year; and in the third Joseph was stirred to go forward.

“What use to stop here all the life?” he asked himself.  “Better to go off.”

He put his belongings in his box and went to Swansea.

“Very busy emporium I am in,” were the words he sent to Madlen.  “And the wage is twenty pounds.”

Madlen rejoiced at her labor and sang:  “Ten acres of land, and a cow-house with three stalls and a stall for the new calf, and a pigsty, and a house for my bones and a barn for my hay and straw, and a loft for my hens:  why should men pray for more?” She ambled to Moriah, diverting passers-by with boastful tales of Joseph, and loosened her imaginings to the Respected.

“Pounds without number he is earning,” she cried.  “Rich he’ll be.  Swells are youths shop.”

“Gifts from the tip of my tongue fell on him,” said Essec.  “Religious were my gifts.”

“Iss, indeed, the brother of the male husband.”

“Now you can afford nine of pounds for the place.  Rich he is and richer he will be.  Pounds without number he has.”