e fine pair of horses that drew Howel's new carriage take
fright, but the London coachman showed the superiority of his driving by
pulling them in' and the crowd shouted amain.

Captain Dancy and Miss Simpson, who accompanied the pair, were duly
impressed with the loyalty of Howel's subjects, and were not
particularly shown the little shop to which he owed their sudden
devotion. 'Jenkins, the miser,' was quite swallowed up in 'Howel
Jenkins, Esq.,' and 'Netta Prothero, Glanyravon,' was engulphed in his
wife. So goes the world. Shout on, little boys, for so will it be when
you are in your turn big men, and 'adore the rising, rather than the
setting sun,' as the French proverb hath it.

Fortunately, Abertewey was in the parish of Llanfawr, and some seven or
eight miles from Glanyravon, therefore Mr and Mrs Prothero knew nothing
of the demonstrations in honour of their children.

Mrs Griffith Jenkins received them, dressed in a new _moire antique_,
quite in baronial style, under the portico of their dwelling, and the
proper complement of retainers was in the background. More shouts were
heard from some of the immediate neighbours, who had gathered round the
door to see the arrival; and as Netta alighted from her carriage,
attired like a Paris doll, she felt that she was now a grand lady, and
could conscientiously look down on Miss Rice Rice, and be on an equality
with Miss Nugent.

Howel gave some orders in a very commanding tone to the various
lords-in-waiting, and then the door closed upon their majesties, and the
admiring crowds saw them no more.

It is no wonder that the world without Plas Abertewey was much engaged
in talking of, and speculating on, the world within. Howel's horses,
Netta's dress, Miss Simpson's father's baronetcy, Captain Dancy's
regiment, Plas Abertewey's appointments, the footmen's liveries, the
reputed wealth of the miser, even Mrs Griffith Jenkins' _moire antique_,
mourning ornaments and gold watch were variously remarked upon, and
doubtless with great good nature and deserving approbation. We all know
how we rejoice when our neighbours rise to wealth or eminence. There was
not one breakfast-table within twenty miles of Abertewey, from that of
my lord and my lady to Jim Davies and his wife, shoemakers, over which
the arrival of Howel Jenkins, the miser, as he was called, according to
his father before him, was not pulled to pieces, from the first sound of
the bells to the last shout at his h