"Th' lad's clean off," said Ben. "That brass has bin too mich for his yed. Wi' most folk it runs to drink, but aw reckon it depends o' th' constitooshun. But, dal me, if aw dunnot don missen up very next Sunday 'at ever is, an' gooa wi' 'im to th' chapel an' hear for missen; so, dooant forget, Hannah, to ha' me a clean shirt, for aw munnot shame th' lad." "Aye," assented Hannah, "gooa, bi all meeans, an' if a fooil's advice worth's takkin', please thissen abaat keepin' thi ears on th' pulpit, but keep thi e'en on th' pews." And with this Delphic utterance Mrs. Garside began to lay the little round table for tea, with a clatter that threatened the longevity of the "chaney" cups and saucers that had descended with the Family Bible, and were almost as venerated. And Lucy looked troubled with that trouble that seeks disguise in constrained cheerfulness. "It's a woman, then," said Ben to himself. "Who'd ha' thowt it, but whooa i' th' name o' wonder can it be?" Pursuant to his resolve, Ben, the next Sunday, volunteered to accompany Tom to Chapel, to Tom's undisguised surprise. "Well, yo' see, lad," explained the Senior, inwardly congratulating himself on the astuteness of his reply, "what's gooid enough for thee 'll daatless be gooid enough for thi partner 'at is to be." The Rev. David Jones was a man of middle stature, quick and nervous in his movements, and quick and nervous in his delivery. He had all the fire and not a little of the poetic feeling and imagination of his Welsh ancestry. He had the great gift of being able to see and understand the very crux of an abstruse problem and to state it lucidly. Then, when you held your breath for the solution, he would break into a rhapsody, and, in a torrent of words, metaphor piled upon metaphor in dazzling extravagance of phrase, he would scale the gamut of the emotions, and close the exordium as in the wild frenzy of an ancient seer. "Ther's a gooid deeal o'clout, Tom," whispered Ben, "but aw'n nooan come to th' puddin'." But Ben spoke to ears that heard not. The rhapsodies of the eloquent Gael were thrown away on Tom. His eyes were fixed on the ample pew in which Mr. and Mrs. Tinker sat erect and listening apparently with much attention to the sermon. Mr. Tinker's regard indeed, appeared to be more critical than appreciative. "Jabez is too owd a bird to be ta'en wi' chaff," thought Ben. "Th' parson's main clever, reight enough, but there's one yonder's gotten his measure, or awm mista'en."