By Berwen Banks

"Well, indeed, he hasn't said anything," said Betto, hunting for the

frying-pan, and beginning to prepare the ham and eggs for supper. "But

where's that Robin?" she added; "a clout or two with the frying-pan

would not hurt his addle pate."

"He has been wise, and made himself scarce; but what has he done,

Betto?"

"What has he done? the villain! Well, you know the sheep are grazing

in the churchyard this week, and that 'mwnki' is watching them there.

Well--he seated himself yesterday on a tombstone when we were in

church, and whit, whit, whitted 'Men of Harlech' on his flute! and the

Vicare praying so beautiful all the time, too! praying against the

wiles of the devil and of Essec Powell!"

"Essec Powell! What has he been doing?"

"Well, machgen i, you will not believe! the boldness of those

'Methots' is something beyond! And the impidence of Essec Powell!

What do you think, Caradoc? he is praying for your father--out loud,

mind you!--in the prayer-meeting every Wednesday evening! But there!

the master is beforehand with him, for he is praying for Essec Powell

on Tuesdays!" and she tossed the frizzling ham and eggs on the dish.

"Come to supper, my boy," and Cardo followed her nothing loth into the

gloomy parlour, lighted by one home-made mould candle, for he was

hungry in spite of the ginger-bread.

"Ah, Caradoc! you have come," said the Vicar, as he entered the room

punctually at the stroke of ten, "what made you so late to-night?"

"Well," said Cardo, "when Deio, 'Red Dragon,' led Captain out of the

stable, I found the swelling on his leg had risen again, so I left him

with Roberts, the farrier. He will bring him home on Friday."

"You have ridden him too soon after his sprain, as I told you, but

young men always know better than their elders."

"Well, you were right anyway this time, father."

"Yes," said his father; "as the old proverb says, 'Yr hên a wyr yr

ifanc a debyg."

"Shouldn't wonder if it rained to-morrow, the wind has veered to the

south; it will be bad for the 'Sassiwn,' won't it?" said Cardo, after a

pause.

"The what?" said the Vicar, looking full at his son.

"The 'Sassiwn,' sir, as they call it; the Methodist Association, you

know, to be held here next week."

"I don't want to hear anything about it; I take no interest in the

subject."

"Won't you go then, father? There will be thousands of people there."

"No, sir, I will not go; neither will you, I hope," answered the Vicar,

and pushing his plate away, he rose, and walked stiffly out at the door

and along the stone passage leading to his study.