Eylwin Jones heard the noise of his fall and ran into the chapel. "What's the matter?" he cried. "Comic you look on your stomach. Great one am I for to see jokes." "An old rod did catch my toe," Tim explained. Eylwin changed the cast of his countenance. "Awful you are," he reproved Tim. "Suppose that was me. Examine you the stairs. Now indeed forget a handkerchief have I for to wipe the flow of the nose. Order Winnie to give me one of Enoch Harries. Handkerchiefs white and smelly he has." "Ill is Winnie fach," said Martha. "Gone she has for brief weeks to Wales," Tim added. In the morning Eylwin came to the Tabernacle. "Not healthy am I," he said. "Shock I had yesterday. Fancy I do a rabbit from Wales for the goiter." "Tasty are rabbits," Tim uttered. "Clap up, indeed," said Martha. "Too young they are to eat and are they not breeding?" "Rabbits very young don't breed," remarked Eylwin. "They do," Martha avowed. "Sometimes, iss; sometimes, no. Poison they are when they breed." "Not talking properly you are," said Eylwin. "Why for you palaver about breeding to the preacher? Cross I will be." "Be you quiet now, Martha," said Tim. "Lock your tongue." "Send a letter to Winnie for a rabbit; two rabbits if she is small," ordered Eylwin. "And not see your faults will I." Tim and Martha were perplexed and communed with each other; and Tim walked to Wimbledon where he was not known and so have his errand guessed. He bought a rabbit and carried it to the door of the minister's house. "A rabbit from Winnie fach in Wales," he said. "Eat her I will before I judge her," replied Eylwin; and after he had eaten it he said: "Quite fair was the animal. Serious dirty is the capel. As I flap my hand on the cushion Bible in my eloquence, like chimney smoke is the dust. Clean you at once. For are not the anniversary meetings on the sixth Sabbath? All the rich Welsh will be there, and Enoch Harries and the wife of him." 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."