Just as the ground was once more cleared of gazing idlers and unprofitable querists, a gentleman, well mounted on a chesnut-coloured hunter, entered the town, and cast an eager eye at the grey horse. Twm recognized him at a glance as a Breconshire magistrate, named Powell, one of the many rejected admirers of the lady of Ystrad Fîn; riding up to our hero, he asked if the horse was for sale. Twm answered in broken English, imitating the dialect of the lower class, “I don’t no but it iss, if I can get somebody that iss not wice, look you, somebody that was fools to buy him.” “But why,” asked the gentleman, “don’t you take him into the horse-fair?” “Why indeed to goodness,” answered Twm, “I was shame to take him there; for look you, he hass a fault on him, and I do not find in my heart and my conscience to take honest pipple in with a horse that has a fault upon him, for all master did send me here to sell him.” “Well, and what is this mighty fault!” asked the stranger, smiling. “Why indeed to goodness and mercy,” replied Twm, “it was a fault that do spoil him—it was a fault that—” “But what _is_ the fault?” asked the Breconshire magistrate impatiently: “give it a name man.” “Why indeed to goodness,” replied the scrupulous horse-dealer, “I will tell you like an honest cristan man, without more worts about it; I will make my sacraments and bible oaths”—“I don’t ask your oath,” cried Powell, almost out of humour, “merely tell me in a word, what ails the horse?” “Indeed and upon my sole and conscience to boot, I can’t say what do ail him.” “You don’t?” cried Powell in an angry tone, and looking as surprised and wroth as might be expected from a proud Breconshire magistrate. “Confound me if I do,” replied Twm, “but I will tell you why he wass no good to master; it wass this—Master iss a parson, a great parson, a gentleman parson, not a poor curate, one mister Evans, Rector of Tregaron, and the white hairs do come off the grey horse here, and stick upon his best black coat and breeches; and that wass his fault.” It is needless to add that the rising choler of the fiery Powell immediately subsided, and laying no particular stress on this singular blemish, purchased the grey horse, and paid for it at once, apparently glad to escape from the tedious fooleries of the strange horse-dealer.