matter; not that I would receive
anything from them, if I preached to them six times a day.' 'Thou art
not fond of receiving favours, then, young man,' said Winifred. 'I am
not,' said I. 'And of conferring favours?' 'Nothing affords me greater
pleasure,' said I, 'than to confer favours.' 'What a disposition,' said
Winifred, holding up her hands; 'and this is pride, genuine pride--that
feeling which the world agrees to call so noble. Oh, how mean a thing is
pride! never before did I see all the meanness of what is called pride!'

'But how wilt thou live, friend,' said Peter; 'dost thou not intend to
eat?' 'When I went out last night,' said I, 'I laid in a provision.'
'Thou hast laid in a provision!' said Peter, 'pray let us see it.
Really, friend,' said he, after I had produced it, 'thou must drive a
thriving trade; here are provisions enough to last three people for
several days. Here are butter and eggs, here is tea, here is sugar, and
there is a flitch. I hope thou wilt let us partake of some of thy fare.'
'I should be very happy if you would,' said I. 'Doubt not but we shall,'
said Peter; 'Winifred shall have some of thy flitch cooked for dinner.
In the meantime, sit down, young man, and breakfast at our expense--we
will dine at thine.'

On the evening of that day, Peter and myself sat alone beneath the oak.
We fell into conversation; Peter was at first melancholy, but he soon
became more cheerful, fluent, and entertaining. I spoke but little; but
I observed that sometimes what I said surprised the good Methodist. We
had been silent some time. At length, lifting up my eyes to the broad
and leafy canopy of the trees, I said, having nothing better to remark,
'What a noble tree! I wonder if the fairies ever dance beneath it.'

'Fairies!' said Peter, 'fairies! how came you, young man, to know
anything about the fair family?'

'I am an Englishman,' said I, 'and of course know something about
fairies; England was once a famous place for them.'

'Was once, I grant you,' said Peter, 'but is so no longer. I have
travelled for years about England, and never heard them mentioned before;
the belief in them has died away, and even their name seems to be
forgotten. If you had said you were a Welshman, I should not have been
surprised. The Welsh have much to say of the Tylwyth Teg, or fair
family, and many believe in them.'

'And do you believe in them?' said I.

'I scarcely know what to say. Wise and good