On.

"Of course, my boy," he went on to say in his homely, rugged Welsh, "we
will be there to hear you, and I will drive you home in the car, and we
will have the fattest goose for dinner, and the best bedroom will be
ready for you. These few lines from

"Your delighted and loving father,

"EBBEN OWENS,

"Garthowen."

Will crushed the letter with a sigh when he had read it, and threw it
into the fire, and the old Garthowen pucker on his forehead was only
chased away by the perusal of a letter from Gwenda, whose contents we
will not dare to pry into.

Never were there such preparations for attending a service, as were
made at Garthowen before the next Sunday morning. Never had Bowler's
harness received such a polish, every buckle shone like burnished gold.
Ebben Owens had brushed his greatcoat a dozen times, and laid it on the
parlour table in readiness, and had drawn his sleeve every day over the
chimney-pot hat which he had bought for the occasion.

When the auspicious morning arrived Ann arrayed herself in her black
silk, with a bonnet and cape of town fashion; and in the sunny frosty
morning they set off to Castell On, full of gratified pride and
pleasant anticipations.

Leaving the car at a small inn near the church, they entered and took
their places modestly in the background. No one but he who reads the
secrets of all hearts knew what a tumult of feelings surged through the
breast of that rugged, bent figure as Will passed up the aisle, looking
handsomer than ever in his clerical garb. Thankfulness, pride, love, a
longing for closer communion with his son, were all in that throbbing
heart, but underneath and permeating all was the mysterious gnawing
pain that had lately cast its shadow over the old man's life.

During the service both he and Ann were much perplexed by the
difficulty of finding their places in the prayer-book, and they were
greatly relieved when at last it was over and the sermon commenced.

Mr. Price had not been misinformed. Will was certainly an eloquent
preacher, if not a born orator, and possessed that peculiar gift known
in Wales as "hwyl"--a sudden ecstatic inspiration, which carries the
speaker away on its wings, supplying him with burning words of
eloquence, which in his calmer and normal state he could never have
chosen for himself. Will controlled this feeling, not allowing it to
carry him to that degree of excitement to which some Welsh preachers
abandon t