Only a week
after he and Will had talked over their plans in the barn, Jos Hughes,
who was his fellow-deacon at Penmorien Chapel, had met him in the
market at Castell On, and had persuaded him to lend him the exact
amount which his ricks had brought him, with many promises of speedy
repayment.

"Tis those hard-hearted Saeson,[1] Mr. Owens bach! They will never
listen to reason, you know," he had argued, "and they are pressing upon
me shocking for payment for the goods I had from them last year; and me
such a good customer, too! I must pay them this week, Mr. Owens bach,
and you are always so kind, and there is no one else in the parish got
so much money as Garthowen. I will give you good security, and will
pay you week after next, as sure as the sun is shining!"

It was a plausible tale, and Ebben Owens, as usual, was weak and
yielding. He liked to be considered the "rich man" of the parish, and
to be called "Mr. Owens," so Jos went home with the money in his
pocket, giving in return only his "I. O. U.," and a promise that the
transaction should be carefully kept from Ann's ears, for Ebben Owens
was more afraid of his daughter's gentle reproofs than he had ever been
of his wife's sharp tongue.

[1] English.

CHAPTER IV

THE OLD BIBLE

On the following Sunday, Morva kept house alone at Garthowen, for
everyone else had gone to chapel, except Will, who had walked to
Castell On, which was three miles away up the valley of the On, he
having been of late a frequent attendant at Mr. Price's church. The
vicar was much beloved by all his parishioners, beloved and respected
by high and low, but still his congregation was sparse and uncertain,
so that every new member was quickly noticed and welcomed by him--more
especially any stray sheep from the dissenting fold possessed for him
all the interest of the sheep in the parable, for whose sake the ninety
and nine were left in the wilderness. Will had gone off with a large
prayer book under his arm, determined to take special note of the
Vicar's manner in reading the lessons, for on the following Sunday this
important duty would devolve upon him.

No one who has not spent a Sunday afternoon in a Methodist household
can really have sounded the depths of dullness; the interminable hours
between the early dinner and the welcome moment when the singing kettle
and the jingling of the tea-things break up the spell of dreariness,
the solemn silence pervading eve