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As he spoke the clothier heaped garments on the counter.

“Put out your arms,” he ordered Kate, “and take the suits to a room for Llew to try on.”

Kate obeyed, and Llew hymning “Moriah” took her round the waist and embraced her, and the woman, hungering for love, gladly gave herself up. Soon attired in a black frock coat, a black waistcoat, and black trousers, Llew stepped into the shop.

“A champion is the rabbit,” he said; “and very tame.”

“If meat doesn’t come down,” said the clothier, “in the belly she’ll be as well.”

“Let me know before you slay her. Perhaps I buy her. I will study her again.”

The clothier gazed upon Llew. “Tidy fit,” he said.

“A bargain you give me.”

“Why for you talk like that?” the clothier protested. “No profit can I make on a Cymro. As per invoice is the cost. And a latest style bowler hat I throw in.”

Peering through Llew’s body, Saint David saw that the dealer dealt treacherously, and that the money which he got for the garments was two pounds over that which was proper.

Llew walked away whistling. “A simple fellow is the black,” he said to himself. “Three soverens was bad.”

On the evening of the next day–that day being the Sabbath–the soldier worshiped in Capel Kingsend; and betwixt the sermon and the benediction, the preacher delivered this speech: “Very happy am I to see so many warriors here once more. We sacrificed for them quite a lot, and if they have any Christianity left in them they will not forget what Capel Kingsend has done and will repay same with interest. Happier still we are to welcome Mister Hughes-Jones to the Big Seat. In the valley of the shadow has Mister Hughes-Jones been. Earnestly we prayed for our dear religious leader. To-morrow at seven we shall hold a prayer meeting for his cure. At seven at night. Will everybody remember? On Monday–to-morrow–at seven at night a prayer meeting for Mister Hughes-Jones will be held in Capel Kingsend. The duty of every one is to attend. Will you please say something now, zer?”

Hughes-Jones rose from the arm-chair which is under the pulpit, and thrust out his bristled chin and rested his palms on the communion table; and he said not one word.

“Mister Hughes-Jones,” the preacher urged.

“I am too full of grace,” said Hughes-Jones; he spoke quickly, as one who is on the verge of tears, and his big nostrils widened and narrowed as those of one who is short of breath.

“The congregation, zer, expects–“

“Well-well, I’ve had a glimpse of the better land and with a clear conscience I could go there, only the Great Father has more for me to do here. A miracle happened to me. In the thick of my sickness a meetority dropped outside the bedroom. The mistress fainted slap bang. ‘If this is my summons,’ I said, ‘I am ready.’ A narrow squeak that was. I will now sit and pray for you one and all.”

In the morning Llew went to the One and All and in English–that is the tongue of the high Welsh–did he address Hughes-Jones.

“I’ve come to start, zer,” he said.

“Why wassn’t you in the chapel yezterday?”

“I wass there, zer.”

“Ho-ho. For me there are two people in the chapel–me and Him.”

“Yez, indeed. Shall I gommence now?”

“Gommence what?”

“My crib what I leave to join up.”

“Things have changed. There has been a war on, mister. They are all smart young ladies here now. And it is not right to sack them and shove them on the streets.”

“But–“

“Don’t answer back, or I’ll have you chucked from the premizes and locked up. Much gratitude you show for all I did for the soders.”

“Beg pardon, zer.”

“We too did our bits at home. Slaved like horses. Me and the two sons. And they had to do work of national importance. Disgraceful I call it in a free country.”

“I would be much obliged, zer, if you would take me on.”

“You left on your own accord, didn’t you? I never take back a hand that leave on their own. Why don’t you be patriotic and rejoin and finish up the Huns?”

Bowed down, the soldier made himself drunk, and the drink enlivened his dismettled heart; and in the evening he stole into the loft which is above the Big Seat of Capel Kingsend, purposing to disturb the praying men with loud curses.

But Llew slept, and while he slept the words of the praying men came through the ceiling like the pieces of a child’s jigsaw puzzle; some floated sluggishly and fell upon the wall and the roof, and some because of their little strength did not reach above the floor; and none went through the roof. Saint David closed his hands on many, and there was no soundness in them, and they became as though they were nothing. He formed a bag of the soldier’s handkerchief, and he filled it with the words, but as he drew to the edges they crumbled into less than dust.

He pondered; and he made a sack out of cobwebs, and when the sack could not contain any more words, he wove a lid of cobwebs over the mouth of it. Jealous that no mishap should befall his treasure, he mounted a low, slow-moving cloud, and folding his wings rode up to the Gate of the Highway.