He came often to view Tim and Martha at their labor.

“Fortunate is your wench to have holiday,” he said one day.  “Hard have preachers to do in the vineyard.”

“Hear we did this morning,” Tim began to speak.

“In a hurry am I,” Eylwin interrupted.  “Fancy I do butter from Wales with one pinch of salt in him.  Tell Winnie to send butter that is salted.”

Martha bought two pounds of butter.

“Mean is his size,” Tim grieved.

“Much is his cost,” Martha whined.

“Get you one pound of marsherin and make him one and put him on a wetted cabbage leaf.”

The fifth Sunday dawned.

“Next to-morrow,” said Martha, “the daughter will be home.  Go you to the jail and fetch her, and take you for her a big hat for old jailers cut the hair very short.”

“No-no,” Tim replied.  “Better she returns and speak nothing.  With no questions shall we question her.”

Monday opened and closed.

“Mistake is in your count,” Martha hinted.

“Slow scolar am I,” said Tim.  “Count will I once more.”

“Don’t you, boy bach,” Martha hastened to say.  “Come she will.”

At the dusk of Friday Eylwin Jones, his goitered chin shivering, ran furiously and angrily into the Tabernacle.  “Ho-ho,” he cried.  “In jail is Winnie.  A scampess is she and a whore.  Here’s scandal.  Mother and father of a thief in the house of the capel bach of Jesus Christ.  Robbed Mistress Harries she did.  Broke is the health of the woman nice as a consequent.  She will not be at the anniversary meetings because the place is contaminated by you pair.  And her husband won’t.  Five shillings each they give to the collection.  The capel wants the half soferen.  Out you go.  Now at once.”

Tim and Martha were sorely troubled that Winnie would come to the Chapel House and not finding them, would go away.

“Loiter will I near by,” said Tim.

“Say we rent a room and peer for her,” said Martha.

Thereon from dusk to day either Tim or Martha sat at the window of their room and watched.  The year died and spring and summer declined into autumn, when on a moon-lit night men flew in machines over London and loosened bombs upon the people thereof.

“Feared am I,” said Martha, “that our daughter is not in the shelter.”  She screamed:  “Don’t stand there like a mule.  Pray, Tim man.”

Remembering how that he had prayed, Tim answered:  “Try a prayer will I near the capel.”

So Martha watched at her window and Tim prayed at the door of the Tabernacle.

XII

LOST TREASURE

Here is the tale that is told about Hugh Evans, who was a commercial traveler in drapery wares, going forth on his journeys on Mondays and coming home on Fridays.  The tale tells how on a Friday night Hugh sat at the table in the kitchen of his house, which is in Parson’s Green.  He had before him coins of gold, silver, and copper, and also bills of his debts; and upon each bill he placed certain monies in accordance with the sum marked thereon.  Having fixed the residue of his coins and having seen that he held ten pounds, his mind was filled with such bliss that he said within himself:  “A nice little amount indeed.  Brisk are affairs.”